


One Foot in the Grave, The Other One Kicking Its Way Right Down to Hell

by ezmerelda_kolyana



Category: Curse of Strahd - Fandom, Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: (except when they do), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Injury, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Gen, Gore, Possession, Tags will be updated as chapters are posted, ezmerelda and van richten are best friends FIGHT ME, ezmerelda and van richten's epic monster hunting road trip, no beta we die like men, pre-canon monster hunting shenanigans, there are guns but they don't use them because they're not Sexy, they're hunters...there's a spot of murder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26352100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ezmerelda_kolyana/pseuds/ezmerelda_kolyana
Summary: When monster-hunters Ezmerelda D'Avenir and Rudolph van Richten roll up to a sleepy southern town, they're accosted by a charismatic pastor with as many secrets as smiles. As they work to unravel the mysteries behind the mask, they begin to learn that they're not the only ones in the town who have been hunting. A martyr, a widow, a church, and a door. What could possibly go wrong?----This is my modern take on 5e's Curse of Strahd. It takes place during Ezmerelda and van Richten's first hunting stint together, before the events of the module itself.If you have questions about the world or content warnings, feel free to leave me a message. Comments and kudos are appreciated--especially if you love my sad dad and surrogate daughter as much as i do?? I need validation??Enjoy!
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

“Pardon me, but do you have a moment to learn about the word of God?”

  
The call had come from a man standing about ten feet ahead up against the building to their left. He was dressed in all black with a priest’s collar wrapped around his throat, proffering one of the pamphlets he had clutched to his chest, dispensing his salvation in a sweetened southern drawl.

  
Ezmerelda had clocked the man’s presence about two blocks back and had decided to do her damndest to ignore him, just as van Richten was clearly doing. She was tired and full -- they’d just made it into town a few hours ago and had dinner, and she really wasn’t in the mood for some drive-by priest to ruin their walk back to their hotel.

  
She caught the man’s eye, and something about the intensity of his gaze gave her pause. His smile seemed affable enough -- inviting even, if one felt moved by such pleas -- but his eyes were far sharper than his tone had been, and there was a hunger in his gaze that bordered on predatory.

  
It would have been simple to ignore him and keep moving. He was probably just some creepy old religious leader who was so desperate to gather followers that he asked anyone who looked remotely new to town.

  
But curiosity got the best of her, so she slowed but didn’t stop. “Which one?” she quipped.

  
The man didn’t seem bothered by her comment, offering her a wider smile and the pamphlet again. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

  
Van Richten let out an unbridled snort, and kept moving forward, but Ezmerelda stopped to humor the man, taking the pamphlet and flipping through it. Unsurprisingly, the pages were filled with vague platitudes and promises of salvation, cited by even vaguer, clearly forced testimonials from various members of the congregation. She’d skimmed all four pages before realizing that she was still unclear as to which deity the man worshiped.

  
She shook the pamphlet at him. “You’re going to want to invest in a better marketing department,” she said. “That didn’t answer my question.”

  
The man chuckled. “That’s the point, my dear. We don’t look to religious texts or deities to give us answers; we look to them for guidance, so that we may come to those answers on our own. Our little community seeks to help each other with finding those answers, and many of us are lucky enough to find lifelong family and friends along the way.”

  
“Sounds more like a study group than a church.”

  
“I will admit, we are a bit...unorthodox.” He smiled at his own joke. “But my congregation swears by it.”

  
Ezmerelda cocked an eyebrow. “‘Your’ congregation?”

  
“Oh, how rude of me. Reverend Malcolm Walker.” He held out a smooth, manicured hand. Ezmerelda could practically feel the irony in placing her calloused, dirt-covered hand in his, his grip strong and firm.

  
“Emily,” Ezmerelda offered, expecting van Richten to chime in with one of the various fake names he used.

  
When he remained silent, Malcolm turned to him and extended his hand. Van Richten didn’t return the motion, leveling the priest with a glare.

  
“Nice to meet you,” the hunter offered.

  
Yet again, Malcolm seemed unbothered by the slight. He dropped his hand and turned back to Ezmerelda. “Are the two of you new in town?” he asked. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen you around before.”

  
“Just passing through,” Ezmerelda said. “Although your town has made us pause. You all are quite welcoming of strangers. We’re not used to that.”

  
“We pride ourselves on our hospitality,” Malcolm said proudly. “If you’ll allow me to boast for a moment -- the church is the biggest contributor to most of the small businesses in town. When lovely folk like you aren’t passing through, we help keep this town afloat.”

  
“You keep saying ‘church,’ but I have yet to figure out what you worship.”

  
“As I said, it’s not quite what you’re used to, I’m sure. We’ve had other visitors say they’ve never experienced anything like it.”

  
Ezmerelda watched his face carefully. “So why should I be interested? Give me your best sales pitch.”

  
“You are rather flippant in considering the state of your eternal soul,” Malcolm said amusedly.

  
“I’ve heard that one before,” Ezmerelda said. “Damnation’s always been in the cards for me. I’m a sinner, through and through.”

  
Malcolm smiled. “Now, that one I’ve heard before. From nearly every member of my congregation at one point or another. Ask any one of them -- they’ll swear by their salvation.”

  
“I’m not asking them, Reverend,” Ezmerelda said. “I’m asking you.”

  
Silence hung in the air as Malcolm considered her. He didn’t seem overly concerned or thrown by the question, but he did seem surprised that she had asked it. She was trying to decide on which level she needed to be offended when he finally spoke.

  
“I was like you once,” he said. “Desperate, lonely, afraid, misguided--” Ezmerelda felt van Richten stiffen ever so slightly beside her. “But I was lucky enough to stumble upon this town and find love.”

  
“The church?”

  
“Yes and no.” Right on cue, a wistful look crossed the older man’s face. “I met the woman who would be the love of my life. She was the one who saved me. Then, after her father passed and she took over the church--” he tapped his forehead with the pamphlets “--that place and its teachings became my life’s work. We had plans to spread the word far beyond the confines of this tiny town, but the gods had other plans, it seems.”

  
“Were you...waiting for them to give you the okay or something?”

  
Malcolm chuckled and shook his head. “The plans to expand were my wife’s. But before we could begin planning, there was an accident.” He hesitated, steeling himself for his next words. “She didn’t make it. And when she died, those plans to expand died with her. I didn’t have the time, money, or the heart to pick up where she left off. I had a leaderless flock to take care of, and my wife left big shoes to fill.”

  
Something felt off about this story, but Ezmerelda couldn’t put her finger on it. The old reverend seemed to genuinely miss his wife, but something about the whole story, from the church to her death, seemed incredibly rehearsed. Like he was used to reeling people in with his sob story.

  
“I am sorry about your wife,” Ezmerelda said. “When did she…?"

  
“Two years ago. I miss her every day.” He was even starting to get a little misty-eyed. Ezmerelda had to hand it to him -- if this was an act, he was one hell of an actor. “But I have a responsibility to uphold. Both this congregation and this town need me at my best, so my best I will be. I owe everything to my wife and that church. The least I can do is give them that.”

  
Ezmerelda must have still looked unconvinced because Malcolm continued, “But that’s just my story. I have far more evidence at the church if you’d like to stop by. I’m sure there are more than a few fine individuals who’d love to share their stories with you.”

  
“Maybe tomorrow,” Ezmerelda said. “We’re a little beat from our travels.”

  
“There’s a fair motel not four blocks from here that offers a pretty fair price for accommodations. Or,” he tapped a finger against his chin, “I can offer you rooms in the church for free. We have a few that people have stayed in in years past, and I could have two ready in no time.”

  
“That’s a very generous offer, Reverend,” Van Richten finally interrupted, “but I’m afraid we’ve already got reservations at the hotel, and we weren’t planning on being in town long. We should probably head that way. Emily, if you don’t mind? We do try to get there right around check-in time. Make sure the corner room’s not taken.”

  
Malcolm bowed his head and said, “Of course. The offer stands should you decide you need it.” He turned to Ezmerelda again. “I really do hope you give us a chance, my dear. Stop by and attend one of our services -- even if you’re only in town for a few days, I guarantee we can change your life.” And there it was--the smile that was a little more teeth and a little more sneer that Ezmerelda had seen far too many times to miss.

  
“I’m sure it will, Reverend.” She made sure to let the sarcasm drip through this time. “Nice to meet you.”

  
“The pleasure is all mine.” His drawl hung on the “a” for a second past comfortable. “Enjoy your stay! And I do hope to see you both soon.”

  
Van Richten put a hand on her back and steered her away, only letting it drop after they’d crossed the street. Ezmerelda was bursting to discuss, but she forced herself to be patient and waited a solid block and a half before breaking the silence.

  
“Well, that was creepy,” she said.

  
“No kidding,” he breathed, his glance still halfway focused behind them. Ezmerelda fought the urge to join him to see if the pastor was still watching them.  
“You didn’t think it was--” she paused “--creepier than usual?”

  
He gave her a sidelong glance before replying. “I don’t like that tone.”

  
“What tone?” she asked. “I just think his whole spiel sounded incredibly suspicious. Didn’t you?”

  
“I mean -- yes, of course. I’m not an idiot,” he answered. “But that also means I know when to keep my distance with things that aren’t my business.”

  
“But this is our business!” She offered a grin to the woman who happened to pass by right as Ezmerelda spoke. The woman’s frown deepened as she hurriedly pulled her dog past the two of them. “Investigating creepy shit is what we do,” she said, lowering her voice even after the woman had gone. “And this is certainly some creepy shit.”

  
Barely holding back an eye roll, Van Richten exhaled. “You find all religions creepy, Ezmerelda. Who’s to say that whatever’s going on with Sweet Tea and Southern Gothic over there is our kind of job?”

  
“I don’t know for sure. I just have a feeling.” She hesitated before going in for the kill. “We could always check it out.”

  
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. We have no idea what’s at work here, or what he’s capable of. If the town really is as wrapped around his finger as he thinks, that’s some kind of firepower we don’t want to mess with.”

  
“I’m not suggesting we take it down. That would be foolish. I’m just saying we could look into it, do some light recon. That’s all.”

  
“And do what? Go stay in whatever all-inclusive convent suite he’s got set up for us? Hell no,” he responded. “With the plaintive family history on a Stepford Wives backdrop, even you have to recognize that’s a trap.”

  
“Obviously it’s a trap.” Ezmerelda earned another odd look with the declaration as a young man passed them by, hands buried in his pockets. She, again, waited until he’d gone and lowered her voice again. “But it’s not like he could keep us there without arousing suspicion. So we might be walking into a trap, but we wouldn’t be trapped.”

  
“Suspicion from who, exactly? The police, who have such a vested interest in keeping people like us alive, or the town, who hangs on every word this man says? Or were you referring to our expansive interpersonal network?”

  
“The manager at the hotel sounded nice over the phone. Certainly he’d care if a paying customer suddenly disappeared.”

  
“Let’s just hope he’s not one of the good reverend’s faithful sheep.”

  
“He runs a motel. I doubt he much cares for the state of his ‘eternal soul.’”

  
“I was a teacher. Ingrid was a school nurse with a painting habit. You’d be surprised how rampant we can be.”

  
Ezmerelda rolled her eyes. “And schools are usually filled with runaways, adulterers, and any other manner of weird, debauched individuals.” It was at that moment the comment about Ingrid sunk in, and she turned to him in surprise. “You never told me Ingrid was a painter.”

  
“Haven’t I?” he said, sending her a split second glance before returning his eyes to the sidewalk, and shoving his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. “I would have sworn.”

  
Ezmerelda wracked her brain for any previous mention of the fact, but came up empty. “I don’t think you have,” she said. “I would have remembered. What did she paint?”

  
“You’re avoiding the subject.”

  
_So are you_. She grunted. “I still think we should check it out. What if we leave and find out something terrible was going on and we ignored it?”

  
“What if we end up dead and then we can’t help everyone else that needs us?”

  
“We won’t end up dead. I wasn’t getting death cult vibes from this guy. Plus we’ll be careful.”

  
“ _You_ careful or _me_ careful?”

  
“You careful. I recognize that this requires delicacy,” she said, a defensive note bleeding into her voice.

  
“Incorrect. If we were being _me_ careful, we wouldn’t be going in at all.”

  
“Fine. Then me careful with you careful once we’re inside.”

  
He let out a sigh, and for a second, she could taste the victory on her tongue. “We’ll talk back at the hotel.”

  
Not wanting to push her luck, she simply nodded and turned her attention back to the sidewalk and the town around them. The town itself at least seemed relatively normal, creepy pastor aside -- they passed a grocery store, a bookshop, a couple boutiques, a CVS, and a few local restaurants. Most of the restaurants had porches that were filled with locals shaking off the last vestiges of the winter cold. Ezmerelda could already feel the humidity starting to settle in the air, almost as heavy as the stares they got from nearly everyone they passed. As far as she could tell, the reverend had overestimated the number of tourists this town saw.

  
The hotel sat toward the opposite end of town, right between the stretch of stores and the beginning of a residential area. The sun had just hidden itself behind the horizon when they reached the door. Dusky, purple light bled into the lines in van Richten’s face as he held the door for her, and she slipped inside before her mind had time to linger on the worry he was trying to hide.

  
The receptionist’s head whipped up as they entered. He didn’t bother hiding his surprise, barely able to stutter out a greeting as they approached the desk. He looked young, maybe fifteen or sixteen if Ezmerelda had to hazard a guess, and he was swimming in what was certainly the only uniform they had available for him.

  
“Um, hi. I mean, welcome,” he said, quickly correcting himself to follow whatever script he’d memorized. “Did you, uh, need a place to stay tonight?”

  
“I called earlier, actually,” van Richten said. “Should be under Franks.”

  
“Oh, a reservation.” He tried to play it off, but Ezmerelda could tell he was nervous. He grabbed the mouse and turned to his computer, his wide eyes staring at the screen. “Uh, one second.”

  
He typed something and waited, then shook his head and tried again. He bit his lip nervously as that search must have yielded similar results. The third time was the charm -- after another, slower clicking of the keyboard and a few seconds’ searching time, he let out an audible sigh of relief and returned his gaze to the two of them.

  
“Okay, I found it,” he said. “Did you still want--” he squinted at the screen “--a corner room?”

  
“If you don’t mind.”

  
“Oh yeah, that’s totally fine. There’s like, two other people in this place besides you.”

  
“Do you get many visitors?” Ezmerelda asked as he shuffled through the plastic key cards, grabbing two and swiping them through the machine next to his keyboard.

  
He shrugged. “Nah. During the summer sometimes, but mostly people just pass through. Or stop at the McDonald’s.” He passed the keys to van Richten. “Room 201. Take--” he hesitated, his gaze moving between the staircases to either side of the lobby “--those stairs.” He gestured unconvincingly to the stairs on the right.

  
Van Richten fixed him with a long stare before moving toward the stairs. “Thanks, Cole.”

  
Cole’s eyes widened, and he whispered with a note of terror in his voice, “H-how did you know my name?”

  
“Nametag, Cole,” van Richten called without turning around.

  
Ezmerelda stayed long enough to grin at Cole’s reddening face before catching up with the hunter. Despite the nametag debacle, Cole had successfully remembered the correct staircase, and after a short walk down the hall they arrived at room 201. As soon as the door creaked open, Ezmerelda pushed past him and ran into the room, launching herself face-first into one of the beds.

  
After a long moment, she heard van Richten speak. “I’m not saying yes. But if I did, what would the plan be?”

  
She rolled over on the bed and sat up, immediately all business to hide the grin tugging at her lips. “We take the good reverend up on his offer. Stay a bit, attend a couple services, chat with the congregation. See if we can stumble across any secrets or talk with any disgruntled parishioners. Then we’ll act accordingly depending on what we find.”

  
“There’s no way we’re staying in that church. If something bad really is going on, the last thing I’m doing is giving them access to me while I sleep.”

  
“Then I’ll go,” she said. “You can stay out here and hold down the fort. Be my agent on the outside.”

  
“You’re not going alone.”

  
“There’s only two of us, van Richten,” she huffed in exasperation. “So unless you want to send Cole in there with me, you’re either going along for the ‘Sweet Tea and Southern Gothic’ ride or I’m going in alone. We don’t have another option.”

  
He stared at her for a long moment before letting out the kind of sigh that was almost always followed by concession. After running his hands through what was left of his hair, it finally came. “I want consistent updates on anything you find, and regular check-ins around that.”

  
_Score_. She tried to hide her smile again, but this time she felt it twitching upward of its own accord. “Of course. Every eight hours.”

  
“Five,” he countered.

  
She thought about countering his counter, but the look on his face suggested he was very not in the mood for such an argument, so she conceded with a sigh. “Fine. Five.”

  
“If you’re more than five minutes late, I will come storming in after you,” he added. “And I will not be happy about it.”

  
“Five minutes is a pretty small margin of error. What if I’m--” she threw the back of her hand against her forehead in mock dramatics and did her best impression of Malcolm’s accent “--absolutely riveted by the pastor’s six hour sermon about the steps to saving one’s eternal soul? I can’t miss a single thing!”

  
“Four minutes.”

  
Ezmerelda glared at him. “Making a call every five hours will look suspicious.”

  
“Then I suppose you’ll have to figure out how to keep a secret.”

  
“I keep lots of secrets,” she muttered. Louder, she said, “Texting is easier. I can text in church.”

  
Van Richten started to speak, but thought better of it and readjusted. “Texting is too easy to fake. All Walker has to do is get your phone and you’re dead.”

  
“Fine then -- ask me for pictures, text me in code, ask me questions only the two of us would know -- just trust me to do this.”

  
“On the hour, every five, four minute window. Agreed?”

  
“Agreed.” She paused. “I’ll be fine. I know what I’m doing.”

  
“I know that, I just--” he stopped, and thought better of it. “I know.”

  
The unspoken words hung in the silence. Instead of risking their ungraceful exit, Ezmerelda busied herself by digging into her backpack, emerging with a deck of cards. She shook them at the hunter, asking, “Wanna play?”

  
“Depends,” he said. “What are we playing?”

  
“Gin rummy?” She raised an eyebrow, waiting for confirmation.

  
“Fine. But we’re playing by my rules this time.”

  
“Alright.” She acquiesced, smiling. Ezmerelda slid off her boots and tucked her feet under her, sliding towards the pillows to give van Richten enough room to sit. She slid the cards from the case and began to shuffle. “Didn’t like my rules from last time, then?”

  
“I don’t have to answer that question,” he smiled, half-jokingly adding: “You know the drill. Coat off.”

  
She gave him an overexaggerated pout. “But it’s cold in here.”

  
“Not as cold as cheating an old man out of his dignity.”

  
Ezmerelda chuckled and rolled her eyes but obliged, slipping the coat off and tossing it onto the other bed. “I wasn’t going to cheat. I only have one set of these cards. Would have been too obvious.”

  
Van Richten returned the eye roll and sat down on the bed across from her, folding his long legs beneath him. Ezmerelda dealt, and between the feel of the cards flicking from her fingers and the gaudy bedspread beneath them, she was suddenly struck by the memory of sitting in the exact same position, playing gin rummy with her mother in their trailer. It was momentarily jarring to glance up and see the grizzled visage of van Richten looking back at her, but if he noticed anything, he didn’t comment.

  
She fanned out her hand and cocked an eyebrow at him over the edges of her cards. “Ready to lose?” she asked.

  
“We’ll see,” he replied, sparing her a skeptical glance before returning his attention to his cards.

  
As it turned out, van Richten’s observation proved to be correct. The game was close -- they traded winning hands for a long while before van Richten won the last three in a row, giving him the victory.

  
He threw his winning hand down on the bed with a grin. “I believe that’s game?”

  
“ _Merde_ ,” Ezmerelda swore, tossing her cards down. “I needed _one_ _more_ card. And you were hoarding it.”

  
“You have a face when you’re collecting queens,” van Richten shrugged. He picked through his discarded hand and brandished the missing card between two fingers--the queen of spades.

  
“That’s ridiculous,” Ezmerelda said, snatching the card from him. “There’s no way I’d have a face for something that specific, let alone that you’d recognize it.”

  
Van Richten gave her one of his looks, his gaze flickering between her and the three other queens peeking out from her mess of cards.

  
“Lucky guess,” Ezmerelda grumbled. Ignoring his knowing smile, she began to gather up the cards. “Another game or trash tv?”

  
“Turn on whatever you want,” he said. “I’m probably turning in soon.”

  
Ezmerelda snatched up the remote as he slid off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. She flicked through the channels listlessly, hoping that something would catch her eye. She hovered on the news for a moment -- van Richten could probably hear from the bathroom, and this would count as the five minutes of news he usually requested. The story outlined some sort of annual spring festival the town was holding next week, and the host was interviewing various members of the town about their preparations. Ezmerelda was unsurprised to see Malcolm Walker’s smiling face appear on the screen, detailing the preparations the church was making. From what he described, Ezmerelda gathered that they were taking on the brunt of the planning and execution.

  
The bathroom door opened and van Richten -- now in one of his various old t-shirts and sweatpants -- padded into the room and plopped down on the other bed.

  
“Sounds like the good pastor wasn’t kidding about the church being a town staple,” Ezmerelda said, gesturing to the tv.

  
“I told you,” he remarked as he settled himself under the covers.

  
“Doesn’t change my mind, though,” she said. “I’ll just have to channel my very best acting skills. He won’t suspect a thing.”

  
Ezmerelda wasn’t watching him, but she could feel the eye roll and she smirked. Snatches of dialogue and commercials flowed into an incoherent mess as she continued to channel surf, eventually landing on a rerun of a comedy show. She’d seen this episode a few times over, but nothing else had piqued her interest. She sprawled out on the bed and settled into the sheets, thankful that they’d had enough money to spring for two beds. Van Richten was already snoring softly in the other one--she didn’t want to wake him.

  
An episode and a half passed by before she felt her eyelids start to droop, and she snuggled deeper into the bed, the sounds of the laugh track lulling her to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Van Richten drops Ezmerelda off at the church, and the two of them learn a bit more about Malcolm and his church in the process. Are the reverend's intentions truly nefarious, or is Ezmerelda reading too much into van Richten's discomfort?

After an abnormally dreamless sleep, Ezmerelda woke slowly, curled up in her sheets in the quiet, darkened room. They’d pulled the blackout curtains so it was impossible to see what time it was, but she was gradually made aware of the gentle hiss of the shower from the bathroom. That made it before breakfast but after van Richten’s morning run -- so, around seven or seven thirty.

She groaned and pulled the covers up under her chin. Sleep didn’t come again, but she remained under the covers and dozed, feeling too cozy to move.

The bathroom door creaked open and Ezmerelda was hit with a blast of steam. Van Richten emerged in jeans and a t-shirt, rubbing his hair dry with a towel. He flung the towel over a chair and dug through his bag, emerging with a flannel that he slipped on over his bare arms. 

"Food’s on the table,” he said, gesturing to the McDonald’s bag on the desk next to the tv.

“Can you throw it over?” she asked, her voice muffled by the covers.

“I’m not going to dignify that with an actual response,” he said, but there was a smile in his voice.

“Haven’t you ever heard of breakfast in bed?” She peeked out from behind the covers to glare at him. “I doubt Malcolm will provide that.”

“Then you’d better get used to it,” he said. “I suppose that means you still haven’t come to your senses about all that?”

“Nope. The news only solidified my suspicions.” She arched her back and stretched under the covers, mentally preparing herself to exit the comfort of her blanket burrito. “Something is going on in that church, and I will figure out what.”

“Well then, I don’t suppose you’re going to be able to do it from down there.”

“I know, I know.” The blankets were flung aside as she rolled out of bed. She reached the desk in a few strides and snatched the bag up, extracting her sandwich and both hash browns -- she always asked van Richten to order an extra -- and immediately scarfed them down.

“Thanks,” she mumbled around a mouthful of food.

“Don’t say I never did anything for you,” he retorted, half-joking.

Food devoured, she took her turn in the bathroom and emerged minutes later with a fresh shirt and brushed hair. Grabbing her coat, she threaded her arms through the sleeves and slung her bag over her shoulder.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Are you?” he returned.

She twisted to look at him still standing by the bed, one hand buried firmly in his pocket, the other clutching his keys. Tension sat in his shoulders and clutched at the lines in his face, upturning his lips ever so slightly. His brows were creeping towards the beginning stages of an intense furrow.

“Of course I am,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Then let’s go,” he said, barely able to keep the trepidation from entering his voice.

They headed downstairs, past the receptionist that wasn’t Cole and to the parking lot where van Richten’s car sat alone in a stretch of visitor’s parking spots. The morning was cool, and Ezmerelda dug her hands deeper into her coat pockets even after they’d gotten into the car.

The whole trip took maybe five minutes from the moment van Richten turned over the ignition. The car held a quiet tension that Ezmerelda couldn’t quite place as her own or the hunter’s. She was nervous, sure, but confident in her abilities. She’d do some recon, get out, report back, and then they’d figure out what to do. Simple enough. Plus, she was sure van Richten was already cycling through a million possibilities and plans should something go wrong. The gods knew he was adept at getting the two of them out of trouble.

After passing through a small copse of trees right outside of town, the church appeared suddenly on their left. Any and all thoughts of an old, creepy Gothic castle were banished from Ezmerelda’s mind as a decidedly innocuous modern building stared back at her. If not for the one, admittedly imposing spire towering over what she assumed to be the chapel, she would have mistaken the building for anything but a church.

Gravel crunched beneath the car’s wheels as van Richten pulled into the parking lot and into one of the spots next to the big double doors. He shifted into park and turned to look at her, one hand still resting on the wheel.

“What are you supposed to do?” he asked her sternly.

She really tried to keep the sigh out of her voice. “A text every five hours within the four minute window or you’ll bust in, guns blazing.”

“And?”

She hesitated. “...be careful?”

“Keep me updated every step of the way. Photo evidence when possible, don’t actively try to agitate anyone, don’t do anything stupid, and the _second_ anything goes sideways, you text me and I’ll be there in ten.”

“So, be careful.” He opened his mouth to speak and she held up a placating hand. “I know, I know. I’ve got it, old man. Don’t worry.”

“Not in this lifetime, kid.” “Didn’t figure, but a girl can dream.” She grabbed her bag and hesitated with her hand on the door handle. “You coming in to see me off or is this adieu?”

“Absolutely not. I'm coming in with you,” he answered. “And hey, maybe we’ll get lucky and the kraken emblems will be directly embroidered on the sanctuary banners. We’ll have half the job done for us.”

Ezmerelda snorted. “When have we ever gotten that lucky?”

“My thoughts exactly,” he said, before hauling himself out of the car.

Ezmerelda followed suit and joined him, the apprehension finally creeping up on her as they reached the double doors and pulled them open.

They stepped into a high-ceilinged chapel lit by the reddish light of the rising sun. Pews lined the walls and between them lay a path to the altar, which sat upon a dais. Just above the dais was a giant, stunning stained glass window -- the only one in the room -- that, while saturated with whorling colors, didn’t depict any sort of image or story like Ezmerelda expected. In fact, the whole chapel was oddly devoid of religious imagery. Not a single holy figure or symbol could be found in her scans of the place. She was about to turn to van Richten and ask if he too found this odd when a voice beat her to the punch.

“Hello there! Can I help you with anything?”

A half-elven woman appeared from the back corner of the church, striding towards them with an enthusiasm Ezmerelda immediately read as suspicious. _You read everything about religion suspicious_ , she heard van Richten chastise her. She put on her best smile and attempted to match the woman’s cheer.

“We’re looking for Malcolm Walker,” she said. “He said we’d find him here.”

“Of course you can! This is his church, after all.” If it had been physically possible for her smile to get wider, it would have. “Who’s asking?”

“Tell him it’s Emily from yesterday,” Ezmerelda said. “I’m interested in his proposal.”

“Wonderful!” the woman said. “If you both would just wait here, I’ll grab the reverend for you. Would you like anything? Water? Tea? Coffee?”

“I’m good,” Ezmerelda said.

“No thanks,” van Richten echoed.

“Then I’ll be back in two shakes.” The smile wasn’t quite reaching her eyes anymore. “My name is Bella. If you need anything, feel free to give me a holler!” She turned and slipped out of the chapel as quickly as she slipped in, leaving just the two of them and the silence.

“Okay, this is definitely creepy, right?” Ezmerelda asked van Richten out of the side of her mouth. “I’m not misreading this?”

“Unfortunately for me, no,” Van Richten sighed. “There is still time to make a run for it before she comes back, though.”

“Nope. I want to figure out what’s going on here. It has to be something weird.” She paused as a thought occurred to her. “You wanna put money on whether or not this is a cult?”

“Against you? Absolutely not,” he replied. “You’ve never met a single religion that you didn’t think was at least a moderately sized cult.”

“I don’t think _every_ religion is a cult --”

“In any case, I’m not inclined to disagree with you. Every bit of this has cult written all over it, but we’re not in the business of busting cults, we’re in the business of hunting monsters.”

“Eh, that’s basically the same difference,” Ezmerelda said with a shrug. “Taking advantage of desperate people can be monstrous.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Even if this isn’t exactly what we normally do, who says we can’t branch out? We get to stretch our wings with this case. Try something new.”

“If you want to start working the criminal justice circuit, be my guest, but I, for one, will not be paying for a lawyer to help you figure your way out of the _cult that you accidentally joined_.”

“I’m not even using my real name. I’ll be fine,” she huffed. “I’m just doing recon. I’m not dumb enough to actually join this cult before I know what it’s about.”

“You do realize that’s not really how cults work, right?”

“Look, as soon as they give me the membership card, I’ll split. Just keep the car running.”

“I’m just saying,” he sighed. “Don’t make me fuckin’ regret this, Ezmerelda.”

“When have I ever made you do that?”

“Would you like that alphabetically or chronologically?” van Richten muttered just as two figures appeared in the back of the chapel.

Malcolm’s smile -- made all the more unsettling by the backdrop -- grew wide as soon as he laid eyes on the two of them. “Welcome, welcome!” he said, clasping his hands together as he reached them. “I’m thrilled that you made it to our humble church. I trust our town’s accommodations were up to your standards?”

“No better or worse that any motel I’ve ever been in,” Ezmerelda replied. “But uh, thanks for asking, I suppose.”

“Of course, my dear. We all work hard to keep this town at its best. We have a reputation to uphold.” He winked conspiratorially. “But I know you aren’t just here to give reviews of all the lovely things our small town has to offer. Bella here tells me you’re interested in what we discussed yesterday.”

“Hesitantly interested,” Ezmerelda corrected. “But I didn’t just come out here for sweet tea.”

Malcolm chuckled. “There will be plenty of time for that later. We can provide tea along with worship here.”

Ezmerelda kept the smile plastered on her face with effort.

“Emily, wasn’t it?” Malcolm continued. “And I don’t believe your friend ever told me his name?” He glanced over at van Richten expectantly.

“I didn’t,” van Richten replied flatly. 

To his credit, the only indication of Malcolm’s annoyance in the prolonged silence that followed was the slightest, nearly imperceptible twitch of his lip. When it became clear neither man was keen on breaking the silence, Ezmerelda cleared her throat. 

“ _ Anyway _ ,” she said, “I’m looking for a change of pace. You claim you can do that for me.”

Malcolm turned his attention and his sharp, grey-eyed gaze back to her. “Oh, I can do more than that,” he said. “I am in the business of changing lives, Miss Emily. I’m so glad you decided to trust yours to us.”

Dread crawled up Ezmerelda’s spine. Ignoring it, she said, “I’m all for giving it a try, Reverend. It’s not me you’ll have to convince.”

Malcolm’s gaze slid over to van Richten. “Ah, yes,” he said. “Your mysterious...friend. What more convincing do you require?”

“None,” van Richten replied, with an ever-so-slight shrug of the shoulders. “Just not interested.”

“Why not?” Malcolm asked. “Certainly you of all people care for the state of your soul. Or does your god not deal in such things?”   


“Do I look like a religious man to you, Reverend?”

Malcolm tapped the side of his nose and winked. “I can tell a fellow cleric when I see one. You have that aura of godly magic about you.”

Ezmerelda glanced at the hunter. “He’s not wrong,” she said.

Van Richten cast Ezmerelda a sidelong glance, the discomfort coming off of him in waves. She’d seen him worried before -- scared, even -- but she’d never seen him this visibly unsettled. Later, she would wish she’d listened to his gut.

He looked back to Malcolm, the reverend’s open, sunny face still expecting a response -- some kind of camaraderie -- but van Richten wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction. “I’m a doctor.”

“Oh! Not a man of the cloth, then,” Malcolm said, sounding impressed rather than disappointed. “But a healer all the same. That’s wonderful. What sort of medicine do you practice?”

“Triage, mostly. Keeps me on my feet. Lets me travel,” van Richten responded, practiced and calculated. It was a response she’d heard a hundred times before. 

“Oh my. How exciting! And noble -- it takes a special kind of strength to see so much violence and remain as calm and collected as you so clearly are.” Before Ezmerelda had time to decide whether Malcolm genuinely didn’t notice van Richten’s discomfort or he was mocking the hunter, his sharp gaze returned to her. “Hopefully you and Emily haven’t encountered too much danger in your line of work.” 

“Well, it’s the excellent hospital chaplains and good men like yourself that keep me at it,” van Richten replied. “Men of unwaverable faith -- what did you say yours was?”

“I didn’t -- though I did mention it’s a bit unorthodox.” The same, coy look he’d given them yesterday was back, accompanied by a mischievous twinkle that told Ezmerelda they wouldn’t be waiting for a straight answer any longer. “I’ve been told by visitors that it’s not often they come across a church dedicated to the domain of the Grave.”

_ There it is _ , Ezmerelda thought as van Richten said, “I see.” He peered around the chapel. “What god?”

“Kelemvor.” After a slight pause, Malcolm added, “I assume you’ve noticed the decided lack of holy iconography about the chapel.”

Van Richten shrugged. 

“As both a man and a god, Kelemvor preached the importance of the balance between life and death,” Malcolm said, gesturing to the empty chapel. “While he wasn’t all that particular about one’s material possessions during life, we thought it appropriate to eliminate any and all distractions when people come to us as a stop in their journey onward.”

“And do many people come to you, Reverend?”

Malcolm shrugged. “More than you’d think, given our location. It was my late wife’s intent to expand, so that Kelemvor’s teachings could be spread further than we are currently able to provide.”

“My condolences.”

“Thank you,” Malcolm smiled sadly. “It’s been two years, but sometimes I feel like it was only yesterday that she stood in this very chapel, leading our church with a grace I can only hope to achieve one day. Are you a married man, Doctor?”

Ezmerelda stiffened and van Richten’s lip twitched, so subtly that she nearly missed it. “We’re separated,” he said. 

“Ah. Sorry to hear that. Love can be a fickle and fleeting mistress if we’re not careful."  His gaze roved over the two of them searchingly, an indication that his next question was for the both of them. “I must admit--the two of you make a curious pair. Are you related?”

Ezmerelda let out an amused snort. It was van Richten’s turn to answer this question that they got every so often, and she wasn’t letting him off the hook for making her answer last time. For the first time since entering the church, the old man cracked a smile. “Don’t you see the family resemblance?” 

Malcolm looked between the two of them confusedly, but neither offered any further explanation. “...right,” he said, clearing his throat. “How long do you think you’ll be staying, Emily?”

“You tell me. How long until my life’s been changed?”

“It takes about two days to cover the basics of what we do,” Malcolm said. “But, if you like what you see, there’s always room in our congregation.”

“I highly doubt that you’ll be  _ that _ convincing, but I’ve been wrong before.” She turned to van Richten. “You gonna stick around, then?” 

“Not here. But, around. I’ve got some planning to do and could use a little break after the Cedarville clinic.” He made a show of throwing his arm around her shoulder. “Always a call or text away.”

“I know, I know.” She jostled him good-naturedly. “Stop worrying. I’ll be fine. I’m in a church, for the gods' sake.” What she’d said occurred to her about a second later, and she glanced Malcolm’s way sheepishly. “Shit, sorry.” 

Van Richten laughed and Malcolm held her gaze coolly, a small smile twitching up the corners of his lips. “It’s quite alright, my dear. I take no grievances with such trivial offenses. Kelemvor -- and us, by extension -- have much bigger things to worry about.”

Ezmerelda covered her snort of disbelief with a cough. “You sure you won’t be bored without me, old man?” she asked van Richten.

“Somehow, I think I’ll manage,” he smiled, covering most of the trepidation burning inside him. “Don’t get into too much trouble.” 

“Me? Trouble? Perish the thought.” She gripped his upper arm and gave it what she hoped was a reassuring squeeze. “See you later.”

“Have fun, kid,” he said with a wink before turning briefly to Malcolm. “Reverend.”

Malcolm inclined his head, keeping his hands clasped in front of him. “A pleasure, Doctor. I do hope we meet again.”

Van Richten turned on his heel and headed back down the aisle, sparing Ezmerelda one last parting glance. There was a warning written there, and a hesitation -- he really didn’t want to leave her here.  But his feet carried him forward without pause, and Ezmerelda watched the rising sun briefly outline his form as he opened the door, throwing long, reaching shadows across the pews. The door clicked shut, and the chapel was silent. 

But only for a moment. “Quick question,” Ezmerelda said, barely waiting for the silence to settle in hopes that she could throw the reverend off his game. “Just have to get this one out of the way for posterity’s sake -- you all aren’t a death cult, correct?”

Malcolm quirked an eyebrow. 

“I mean a  _ bad _ death cult,” Ezmerelda clarified. “Ushering people to a greater beyond is totally fine, and I guess technically counts as a death-adjacent cult? But killing people in order to satisfy a hungry god whose power grows stronger with every death -- now _ that _ I might take issue with. I need to get this distinction out of the way before we get too far.”

Bella, who Ezmerelda had forgotten was still there, began to sputter indignantly. Heat colored her pale cheeks and rose to her pointed ears, but Ezmerelda only had eyes for the stoic reverend. 

They stared at each other until -- finally -- Malcolm chuckled. “You have quite an imagination, my dear. I believe I now understand what ‘trouble’ the good doctor was referring to.” He waved away Bella’s imminent rant and continued. “Luckily, we are very used to troublemakers. And no, before you ask, we don’t kill them. Reform is the name of the game, my dear girl. We can’t gather more followers if we murder everyone who walks through that door.”

“A fair point,” Ezmerelda admitted. “Alright. I believe you’re just a death-adjacent cult. And to that point, I really am interested in how you, uh, worship.”

“In time,” Malcolm said, adjusting his robes. “We’ll start with a tour. Then you can meet the rest of our flock.”

Ezmerelda did her best not to grit her teeth when she answered. “Can’t wait.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezmerelda gets introduced to the church and its members, observes a service, and gets haunted by ghosts of her past.

While the chapel was the biggest singular room, the church was deceptively large. It took the three of them a good half hour to traverse its halls, including both the ground floor and the basement.

Ezmerelda didn’t say much during the tour, opting to listen for details that sounded important or suspicious. To her disappointment, nothing stood out. The church seemed, for all intents and purposes, decidedly innocuous. There were no kraken emblems, no cleverly hidden Infernal symbols, no occult artifacts on display -- nothing that would indicate they weren’t exactly who they said they were.

Now Ezmerelda was sure they were up to something.

At the conclusion of the tour, they ended up back in the chapel. Bella excused herself, throwing Ezmerelda one last dirty look before disappearing deeper into the church. If Malcolm noticed, he didn’t comment.

“Do you have any questions?” he asked. “I realize that was a lot to digest.”

“About how many people worship here?” Ezmerelda asked. “This place seems pretty big for just you and Bella.”

“There are twenty-three of us, including Bella and myself,” he replied. “I sold my house after my wife died and opted to live here, given the ample space.” Ezmerelda remembered and noted the doors Malcolm said were his bedroom and office. “Bella stays here often as well. She doesn’t get along with her family.”

“She doesn’t seem to get along with me, either.” Malcolm chuckled. “Bella is protective of the church. It is, arguably, her home given her relationship with her parents. She feels she needs to thoroughly vet everyone who comes through our doors, especially those seeking membership.”

“Sounds intense.”

“She’s not a part of our official interviewing process, I assure you,” Malcolm said with a smile.

Ezmerelda raised an eyebrow. “It is rather unorthodox to interview one’s congregation before they can join.”

“We deal in death, Ms. Franks. We want to ensure everyone is going to treat this work with the weight and reverence it deserves. We welcome any and all interest in our work, but we must be selective when it comes to those we share our full process with.”

Ezmerelda nodded. Malcolm was making it harder and harder to resist running to the bathroom and immediately texting van Richten an all caps _I told you so_. “I’m sure the people who come to you are appreciative of that attention to detail.”

“There is a reason people come from all over to see us: we’re the best,” Malcolm said.

“It surprises me that I haven’t heard of you,” Ezmerelda said innocently. “The old man doesn’t deal in death per se, but we certainly see enough of it to be familiar with those who do.”

Malcolm winced. “Ah, that’s probably my fault. I’m afraid my wife was far better at the marketing side of things. I’ve let it fall to the wayside as of late, given everything. But enough about us.” He waved away her next question. “We’ll have plenty of time for that when everyone else arrives. I’d like to hear about what brought you to our sleepy, little town. If what the doctor mentioned is any indication, it sounds like there’s never a dull moment.”

“We keep busy,” Ezmerelda shrugged. She felt the weight of Malcolm’s gaze as she began to choose her words carefully. “You get used to the craziness after a while.”

“‘Crazy’ is certainly one word to describe it,” Malcolm said. “Admirable is another. How long has your friend been a doctor?”

“A little over fifteen years. He’s been in triage for seven or eight.”

“Are you a student of his?”

Ezmerelda laughed. “No. Definitely not. I leave the patching people up to him.” She took a breath and turned away from Malcolm, gazing off into the middle distance. The lie only got easier every time she told it. “My parents died when I was sixteen. He’s my uncle -- not by blood, but we were close, so he took me in. I’ve been traveling with him ever since.”

“Ah. So the ‘family resemblance’ comment…”

“We like messing with people,” Ezmerelda grinned.

A single eyebrow climbed up Malcolm’s forehead. “So you aren’t the only troublemaker between the two of you.”

“He likes to pretend otherwise, but I got it from somewhere.”

Sunlight spilled into the chapel as the door creaked open and two kids bounded into the room, followed by a bored teen and an older woman balancing a tray of food. The teen was begrudgingly carrying what Ezmerelda assumed to be bags of more food. He caught Ezmerelda’s eye and frowned.

“Reverend Malcolm!” The two kids, a boy and a girl, hurled themselves toward the reverend, skidding to a stop once they’d wrapped themselves around his legs.

“Hello Jacob, Shannon.” Malcolm looked down and smiled at the kids clinging to his legs. He bent down and took Jacob in his arms, leaning the boy against his hip. “Were you two good for your mother this morning?”

Jacob nodded furiously while Shannon giggled. “I was, but Jacob got in trouble for lying about brushing his teeth.”

“Hey!” Jacob exclaimed. “Don’t be a tattle-tale!”

Malcolm gave the boy a stern look. “What have we said about lying, Jacob?”

The kid wilted under Malcolm’s gaze. “That...it’s bad?” he said sheepishly.

“Correct. We don’t lie, and we especially don’t lie to our mothers. Did you apologize?”

Jacob hesitated, just long enough for his mother to interject as she caught up with her kids. “No, we did not apologize to our mother this morning. I told you Reverend Malcolm wouldn’t be happy with you, Jacob.”

“I said I was sorry in the car!” Jacob protested.

“Did you mean it?” Malcolm said.

The kid paused again, weighing his options. He turned to his mother and said, “I’m sorry for lying, Mom.”

“And…?” Malcolm pressed.

“And I won’t do it again.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard.” Malcolm winked at Ezmerelda. “Plus you showed our guest here how it’s done.”

The woman was trying her best not to stare at Ezmerelda, but her searching gaze became too heavy to ignore.

“Emily Franks,” Ezmerelda said before she had the chance to ask. “The reverend’s elevator pitch intrigued me. Can I help you with any of that?” She gestured to the bags.

“Oh! Uh, sure.” She seemed surprised Ezmerelda had asked, but she handed her two of the paper bags so she could adjust the glass pan in her arms more comfortably. “So you’re not a prospective client, then?”

“Nope. I’m not dying. Or at least I hope I’m not!” Ezmerelda grinned at her own joke, but no one laughed. The teen did give a tiny snort, so she took that as a win. “I am looking for enlightenment, though. Or a purpose. Or something along those lines.”

“You’re certainly in the right place!” The woman smiled, one far more genuine than Bella’s had been. “I’m Bobbi. These are my kids: Ryan, Shannon, and Jacob.”

The kids, still clinging onto Malcolm, chimed in with a chorus of greetings. Ryan, who was likely only a couple years younger than her, gave her a nod in response. 

“I’m going to run to the kitchen and start cooking,” Bobbi said, turning to Malcolm. “Need anything before I go?”

“Would you mind taking Ms. Franks with you?” Malcolm set Jacob down and gently extricated Shannon from his leg, watching as they took off towards the back of the church. “I need to finish up some paperwork in my office. I’ll be along as soon as I’m finished.”

“Of course!” Bobbi threw another warm smile her way, and Ezmerelda couldn’t help but return it. “I may need an extra hand with some of this, if you don’t mind.”

“I’m not a great cook, but I’ll help with whatever you need,” Ezmerelda smiled. “Thanks for the tour, Malcolm.”

“Of course, Ms. Franks. I’ll see you all later.” With a slight bow of his head, he turned and headed towards his office. 

Bobbi led Ezmerelda back to the kitchen where her kids were chasing each other around the island that sat in the middle of the large room. There were two stove tops, two double basin sinks that flanked a dishwasher, and a large refrigerator that Ezmerelda was pretty sure she could comfortably hide in if the shelves were removed. She set the bags down on the island, barely missing Shannon as she barreled after Jacob, giggling. 

“Kids, be careful,” Bobbi warned as they continued to chase each other. She rolled her eyes as they ignored her and continued to scramble around the kitchen. “Do you have any siblings?” Bobbi asked Ezmerelda.

Placing the boxes of eggs she’d fished from out of the bag onto the table, Ezmerelda hesitated. A part of her almost said yes out of habit, almost began to explain that her mother had been taken in by their clan leader Radanavich after her own parents died. That by the time Ezmerelda came around, Radanavich had had four kids of her own that helped raise Ezmerelda. So though she was  _ technically  _ an only child, she’s always thought of herself as the youngest of five -- but she held her tongue before she accidentally opened that can of worms. “Nope. Only child.”

“Lucky,” came a muttered comment from beside her. 

Ezmerelda couldn’t help but snort, and Ryan, who had appeared next to her and was unpacking his own bags, gave her a small, shy smile. 

Bobbi shot Ryan a look, but didn’t comment. “When did you get into town?” she asked instead. 

“Yesterday,” Ezmerelda replied. “We had dinner at that diner at the edge of town. The food was great.” 

“I’ll have to let Dane know. He’ll be delighted to hear that he has another satisfied customer that isn’t a member of our town.” Bobbi skirted around the island and went over to the oven. A beep sounded a moment later, signaling the beginning of the preheating cycle. 

“So where are you from?” she asked over her shoulder. 

“Out west, originally,” Ezmerelda said vaguely. “But I’ve traveled around my whole life, so my home just moves with me.”

“You must have seen quite a bit of the world by now,” Bobbi said, clearly trying to discern Ezmerelda’s age. “How exciting! Do you travel with anyone? Your family?”

_ I used to. _ Ezmerelda cleared her throat to hide the emotion that had suddenly, annoyingly, settled into her chest. “My parents died when I was sixteen, so my uncle took me in. He moves around as much as they did.”

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Bobbi said gently. “Losing a parent is hard enough when we’re older. Losing them young can be even worse.”

There was something in her tone that told Ezmerelda Bobbi was speaking from experience. Still, Ezmerelda just shrugged and busied herself with sorting ingredients into piles. “It’s been three years. It gets easier. Plus I have my uncle now.”

Bobbi nodded. “I’m glad he was there for you,” she said simply.

“Me too,” Ezmerelda said with a smile, thinking of van Richten’s smug grin after he’d won their card game last night. Some of the weight in her chest lifted. “So what are we making?”

“A few breakfast casseroles and some cinnamon rolls,” Bobbi said brightly. Ezmerelda had hoped that Bobbi would pick up on the abrupt change of topic as a signal that Ezmerelda no longer wished to talk about this, and it seemed she had. “They’re not hard to make, just a lot to juggle at the same time. Mind helping me crack eggs?”

In answer, Ezmerelda grabbed the eggs she unpacked and stood next to Bobbi, waiting for direction. “So how long have you been with the church?” she asked. 

“Ryan, could you start on the bread?” Bobbi asked. Once she’d received a grumbling confirmation, she turned back to Ezmerelda. “A few years now. Right before the twins were born, actually.”

Ezmerelda glanced in surprise at the two kids still barreling their way around the kitchen. “They’re twins?”

“Fraternal,” Bobbi said. “They get that a lot. They don’t really look alike.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” Ezmerelda admitted. 

“Most people don’t. Jacob looks more like me, and Shannon looks more like her father.” The crack of an eggshell rang out in the sudden silence and Ryan stiffened slightly. 

“My husband died right after they were born,” she continued, as if she hadn’t noticed her son begin to knead the dough more aggressively. “Heart attack. No one saw it coming.”

“I’m so sorry,” Ezmerelda said quietly. 

“Helena and Malcolm were so kind to us throughout everything,” she said. “I don’t think we would have made it out as well as we did without their support. And the support of the church.” She cracked one last egg and grabbed a fork to scramble them. “We joined officially a couple months later. Kelemvor just felt right, given everything.”

Ezmerelda only nodded in reply. Bobbi’s story felt so genuine, so tinged with a sadness she’d experienced herself, that it felt too real to be a lie. But there had to be something she was missing. Had there been a telling word or phrase she’d missed, a part of Bobbi’s story that didn’t line up? Nothing seemed out of place, just like the rest of this damn church. 

“Emily, could you grab me those glass pans?” Bobbi’s voice startled Ezmerelda from her thoughts. “I’m going to start on the veggies.”

Hoping her trepidation hadn’t been showing, Ezmerelda hurriedly grabbed the pans and turned her attention to Bobbi’s eldest.

“You in high school?” she asked Ryan. 

Ryan didn’t look up from kneading bread when he answered. “I’m a junior.”

“Cool,” she said, unsure of where to go from here. Surprisingly, Ryan continued for her. 

“Have you been anywhere cool?” he asked, trying to sound uninterested even though he was clearly invested in her answer. 

“That depends on your definition of ‘cool,’” she said. “But I’ve been to quite a few places--”

“Have you been to Barovia?” he interrupted. 

Ezmerelda froze. 

“Of course she hasn’t, dear,” Bobbi chastised him. “You know with all that...magical nonsense going on, no one can leave Barovia once they’ve entered it. Not unless--”

“I have, actually.” The words came tumbling out. She kept her gaze on her hands, unsure of where to look suddenly. She wasn’t sure why she decided to tell the truth now, of all times, but it was out in the open and she couldn’t take it back and she should probably continue her story before the silence stretched too long. “I have been to Barovia. Once, when I was a kid. My family did work for Strahd occasionally, so he let us through.” She did look up now, daring either of them to say something untoward. 

She needn’t have worried. While Bobbi -- rendered momentarily speechless -- looked surprised, her demeanor towards Ezmerelda hadn’t changed. There was no suspicion or malice in her gaze. Ryan, on the other hand, was so immediately fascinated he paused in his task to stare at her in open awe. 

“That is so cool,” he breathed. “What was it like? What are the people like? Are there monsters there like people say?” He paused as another possibility occurred to him, and his eyes widened even further. “Did you meet Strahd?”

Ezmerelda thought back, remembering the trip surprisingly well for it having been ten years ago now. “Cold and grey, mostly like you and me but a bit gloomier, and I would bet there are more monsters out here than there are in all of Barovia.”  _ I would know _ , she thought. “And no, I did not meet Strahd. I don’t think my family really even knew him.”

“Damn,” Ryan muttered. “I wanted to know if he’s actually a vampire. Can you ask him next time you’re in Barovia?”

“Ryan!” Bobbi scolded him, his name punctuated by the thunk of the knife on the cutting board. “It’s not polite to ask people if they’re vampires. At least, I don’t think it is.” 

“In my experience, they either bite you or laugh it off,” Ezmerelda said with a shrug, handing Bobbi another red pepper. “It’s kind of a toss up.”

Whatever question was on Bobbi’s lips was lost when another group entered the kitchen, gathering around the island where the three of them were standing. One woman went over to Bobbi and immediately began to regale her with the morning’s gossip, while a man around van Richten’s age stepped over to Ryan. He affectionately jostled the kid and asked him how school was, to which the answer was a shy recounting of the baseball game Ryan had just played. 

An elven woman came up to Ezmerelda, exclaiming, “Who is this? Is this the prospective Reverend Malcolm was telling us about?”

“I’m Emily.” Ezmerelda raised her voice to be heard over the din. 

“Stephanie,” the woman said as another five people entered the kitchen, their arms filled with bags. They crowded the island, calling out greetings as they deposited their breakfast contributions on the counter. 

The newcomers mobbed Ezmerelda and peppered her with many of the same questions Bobbi and Malcolm had asked. She attempted to answer as she could -- though many were being asked over each other or at the same time -- before Bobbi saved her, directing her to sit down and relax until everything was ready. 

A few others sat with her and their conversation quickly turned to local news. They tried to include her occasionally, but Ezmerelda was content to sit and watch the hubbub around her. The way they all interacted with one another, the teasing, the affection -- she was reminded of the way her family used to make dinner. Her father, outside on the grill, her mother and Radanavich in the kitchen, her and Radovan getting underfoot until Radanavich put them to work -- it had been a while since she’d properly let herself miss them, and the hollow ache echoed in her ribcage. 

She distracted herself by jumping into lulls in conversation, asking the newcomers who they were and their reasons for joining the church. By the time brunch was served, she had gotten through a little less than half of them, and still nothing nefarious stood out. In fact, all of them seemed appropriately gracious and forthcoming with her, and it was beginning to eat at her assuredness. Had she been wrong?

She was halfway through her third helping of egg casserole -- Bobbi had insisted -- when she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. Surprised to find that five hours had passed by already, she fished it out of her pocket and checked the screen. 

_ From OLD MAN:  _ Which monster do you consider to be your first kill?

Ezmerelda grinned and typed a reply. 

_ Ezmerelda:  _ the shadow that almost took your head off

_ Ezmerelda:  _ had i not been there

_ Ezmerelda:  _ you’re welcome

After a few long seconds, she received van Richten’s reply.

_ OLD MAN:  _ And what do we both know was your  _ actual  _ first kill as a proper hunter?

She sent the eye-rolling emoji before replying again. 

_ Ezmerelda: _ that ghoul that would. not. die.

_ Ezmerelda:  _ and i think we both know it was the shadow but nice try

_ OLD MAN:  _ Alright, you passed.

_ OLD MAN:  _ See you at five.

She slipped her phone back into her pocket just as Malcolm and Bella entered the kitchen. They immediately received some good-natured ribbing about missing most of breakfast, and Bobbi barely let them get a word in their conversation until they’d eaten at least one piece of her casserole. This agreement didn’t seem to bother Bella -- as the half-elf took her seat, she threw Ezmerelda a dirty glare before sullenly devouring her food. Malcolm, on the other hand, gave Ezmerelda a reassuring wink as he sat down across from her. 

The conversation quickly shifted to spring festival planning now that Malcolm was here. Decorations logistics were discussed, which Ezmerelda only half followed, until the reverend interrupted. 

“Do you think you could find something for Ms. Franks to do?” he asked Stephanie, inclining his head towards Ezmerelda. “As long as you don’t mind, of course,” he said to Ezmerelda. “This isn’t strictly a part of our process, but we could use the extra hand if you’re willing.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Ezmerelda said, offering Stephanie a smile. “I suck at crafts, but I’ll do my best.”

Stephanie smiled back. “I’m sure we can find you something easy to work on,” she said. 

“Excellent,” Malcolm said. “I’ll start the dishes, and we can get to work.”

The rest of the afternoon saw Ezmerelda knitting flower crowns next to Ryan, who was less than thrilled by the job that had been assigned to him. The congregation had all gathered in what Ryan told Ezmerelda was the youth group room, though they had pushed all of the chairs, couches, and tables to the walls to make room for the decorations explosion that currently covered the floor. 

Ryan wasn’t much of a conversationalist. However, when Stephanie insisted that Ezmerelda regale them with some of her travel stories, he immediately perked up. Most of them seemed rather enthralled by her -- admittedly embellished -- tales, and she gathered most of these people probably hadn’t left the town their whole lives. She felt a bit bad for lying to them about her and van Richten’s adventures, but she wasn’t about to blow her cover for a good story. She’d had plenty of time and practice making up believable stories that involved van Richten’s work in “triage.”

Around four thirty, Malcolm called for cleanup, explaining to Ezmerelda that their service was to begin at five. 

“We’re not doing anything special tonight, but you’re welcome to join us,” he said, watching her put the finishing touches on her last flower crown. 

Satisfied, she placed it in the pile with the others she’d completed and stood. “I’d love to join, if you don’t mind,” she replied. “I really want to get a comprehensive view of it all.”

Malcolm chucked. “Your enthusiasm is noted and appreciated. Bobbi, would you mind if Ms. Franks sat with your family?”

“Not at all, dear.” Bobbi took Ezmerelda’s arm and began to pull her towards the chapel. “Don’t feel obligated to join in chants or songs. We know you don’t know the words.”

Bobbi sat her in between herself and Ryan, which wasn’t an issue until five o’clock rolled around. Malcolm, now dressed in white and gold robes, took his place behind the altar and was  about to begin when Ezmerelda felt her phone buzz against her side. Thankful that she’d placed her phone in the pocket closest to Ryan and not Bobbi, she snuck a glance at the screen.

_ OLD MAN:  _ What’s for dinner?

Ezmerelda frowned but typed out a reply with the phone still hidden in her pocket. 

_ Ezmerelda: _ not sure. gotta do church first.

_ OLD MAN:  _ Have you ever even been to church before?

_ Ezmerelda: _ i think you know the answer 

_ OLD MAN:  _ Alright, well, I’ll keep my fingers crossed you don’t spontaneously combust.

_ OLD MAN: _ You ready for the next question?

Ezmerelda snuck a glance up at Malcolm. He seemed preoccupied with whatever book he  was reading from, so she looked down and typed again. 

_ Ezmerelda:  _ rude, but fair

_ Ezmerelda:  _ ready

_ OLD MAN:  _ No budget constraints: what is the ideal Taco Bell meal?

This was a no-brainer.

_ Ezmerelda:  _ two crunchwrap supremes, three cheesy gordita crunches, a quesarito, cinnamon twists, large baja blast

_ Ezmerelda: _ now you made me hungry

_ OLD MAN _ : Incorrect.

_ OLD MAN:  _ The ideal Taco Bell meal is no Taco Bell meal.

_ OLD MAN _ : See you at ten.

And, a few seconds later:  _ Have fun in church. _

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes in case Malcolm happened to be looking at her, she settled for shooting off a couple middle-finger emojis before slipping her hand out of her pocket. When she looked up, she found Ryan staring at her, clearly having seen her texting. 

She froze. After a moment, he just snorted quietly, turning his attention back to Malcolm. She gave him a sheepish smile and absently hummed along with the song everyone had started singing. 

Despite being distracted for the first couple minutes, Ezmerelda listened attentively to the remainder of the service, which lasted about an hour. As far as she knew, the service was uneventful. There were songs and chants -- as Bobbi had promised -- a couple readings from what Ezmerelda gathered was some sort of holy text to Kelemvor, and a small speech where Malcolm said some encouraging things and everyone else nodded along. By this point, Ezmerelda wasn’t expecting anything to jump out at her. But she was still disappointed as they all headed back to the youth group room post-service to wait for pizza.

She regaled them with a few more stories during dinner, which eventually turned into town small talk. Contentedly full of pizza, she sat back and tuned into different conversations until the first couple people made their exits, citing an early rising for work the next morning. More of the congregation trickled out, leaving Malcolm, Ezmerelda, and Bobbi and her kids alone in the room. 

“I should head out too, Malcolm,” she said, yawning. “I need to put the little ones to bed. They’ve already been up too late.”

Jacob and Shannon, who had been half asleep on the couch, immediately woke up and began protesting this development. But both of them quieted as soon as Bobbi picked up Jacob and Ryan did the same for Shannon, content to rest their heads on the shoulders carrying them. Ezmerelda shook her head to dislodge the memory of her mother doing the same for her when she was small. 

“Have a good night, Bobbi,” Malcolm said. “Be good for your mother, kids.”

“It was lovely to meet you, Emily,” Bobbi said to Ezmerelda. “We’ll see you tomorrow, correct?”

Ezmerelda nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be here. It was nice to meet you all, too. Thanks for making me feel so welcome.”

“Of course, dear.” She smiled warmly. 

Ezmerelda was surprised to receive a departing nod from Ryan, which she gathered was more of a goodbye than he gave most people. Then they were gone, and it was just her and the reverend. 

“So,” he said. “What did you think?”

“Your congregation is great,” Ezmerelda said genuinely. “They’re all really nice.”

“They are great, aren’t they? I am extremely lucky to have found such wonderful people to join me on this journey.” He chuckled as she did her best to hide a yawn. “Still, I bet you are exhausted. I can show you to your room, if you’d like.”

A bed suddenly sounded amazing, so Ezmerelda nodded. “I would appreciate that. I am pretty tired.”

“Of course, Ms. Franks. Follow me.”

He led her down the now somewhat familiar halls to a room tucked in the back of the church. The room was small but not stiflingly so, containing a bed, a bedside table, a dresser, and another door that presumably led to a bathroom. Much like the rest of the church, the wall decorations were nonexistent. 

“That door leads to the bathroom,” Malcolm explained, confirming her guess. “My room is back down the hall and to the right. Please feel free to disturb me if you need anything at all--I am not a heavy sleeper, so you should be able to wake me.”

“Thanks, Malcolm,” Ezmerelda said. She would not be disturbing him during the night due to the possibility of viewing the reverend in his underwear, but she supposed the sentiment was nice. She placed her bag down on the bed and shrugged her coat off. “For the place to sleep and for earlier. This has been great so far.” She gave him her most winning smile, hoping it didn’t come off as too eager. 

But Malcolm just returned the smile, bowing his head slightly. “I am glad you have been enjoying your time here with us, Emily. I am hopeful your interest continues. I will see you tomorrow morning.”

“Goodnight, Malcolm.” As soon as Malcolm closed the door behind him, Ezmerelda quietly moved to the door, listening for the reverend’s retreating footsteps. She checked the door knob and found that it did lock from the inside, which she did immediately. Walking back over to the bed, she checked her phone. It was a little after nine thirty, so she sprawled out on the bed and played a game on her phone until she received a text notification. 

_ OLD MAN:  _ You a cleric yet?

_ Ezmerelda: _ yup! cant wait to show you all my new spells

_ OLD MAN:  _ Oh, thank god, now I don’t have to waste all of my magic healing you

_ Ezmerelda: _ dont get too hasty, old man

_ Ezmerelda: _ what makes you think i took any healing spells

_ OLD MAN:  _ That’s the beauty of it, bucko

_ OLD MAN:  _ You get to ask God for new spells every time you take a nap

_ OLD MAN:  _ Why do you think us church folk pray before bed?

_ Ezmerelda: _ i can do that too and i don’t even have to ask

_ Ezmerelda:  _ HA

_ Ezmerelda:  _ also we had pizza for dinner

_ OLD MAN:  _ Did the rest of the congregation stay, or did you and Malcolm just go out for a romantic little one-on-one?

_ Ezmerelda:  _ ew _.  _ everyone was there, thankfully

_ Ezmerelda:  _ they were really into our “travel stories” 

_ OLD MAN:  _ Did you tell them the one about the “rabid cow”?

_ Ezmerelda:  _ obviously. that one’s a crowd pleaser

_ OLD MAN:  _ Well, I’m glad even these folks have taste

_ OLD MAN:  _ You find anything yet?

_ Ezmerelda:  _ no, but i haven’t had a chance to snoop

_ Ezmerelda:  _ everyone seems fairly normal, except for that one half-elf girl that hates me for some reason

_ OLD MAN:  _ So I can stop sleeping on this god-awful hotel mattress and we can leave?

_ OLD MAN:  _ Truly, you are extremely lucky to have skipped out on this one

_ OLD MAN:  _ This is worse than Jersey City.

_ Ezmerelda:  _ that bad, huh? 

_ Ezmerelda:  _ this bed isn’t awful, you could always come here

_ Ezmerelda: _ give me one more day

_ OLD MAN:  _ Fine.

_ OLD MAN:  _ I’m leaving here tomorrow night with or without you, I’m not doing this cardboard pillow shit again.

_ Ezmerelda:  _ hey, at least we’re sleeping in beds and not the car

_ Ezmerelda: _ you could be leaning back on the worlds most uncomfortable headrest

_ OLD MAN:  _ I hadn’t thought about that.

_ OLD MAN:  _ Maybe I’ll go sleep in the car.

_ Ezmerelda: _ have fun with that, weirdo

_ Ezmerelda:  _ are you really gonna text me at 3am

_ OLD MAN:  _ And risk you getting stabbed in the night?

_ OLD MAN:  _ Absolutely fucking not.

_ OLD MAN:  _ Does that mean you’re ready for this round of trivia?

_ Ezmerelda: _ im hurt you dont think im sleeping with two knives under my pillow tonight

_ Ezmerelda: _ ...do you think someone has been faking this whole convo??

_ OLD MAN:  _ Never too careful.

_ Ezmerelda: _ ugh, fine. ready

_ OLD MAN:  _ What spell did I use to cap off the “rabid cow” fight back in Jersey?

_ Ezmerelda: _ spiritual weapon

_ Ezmerelda: _ you stabbed it in the chest and it exploded all over me

_ Ezmerelda _ : i can never forget

_ OLD MAN:  _ Oh, I know.

_ OLD MAN:  _ Set your alarms -- 3:06 and I’m burning the place to the ground.

_ OLD MAN:  _ Sleep tight!

_ Ezmerelda: _ you only gave me four minutes, so technically itd be 3:04

_ OLD MAN:  _ I’m giving myself a minute and a half to get over there, and another thirty seconds or so to throw down the lighter fluid.

_ Ezmerelda:  _ im holding you to it if i dont answer

_ Ezmerelda:  _ which i will

_ Ezmerelda:  _ malcolm seemed a little too excited for tomorrow so i dont think hes going to murder me tonight 

_ OLD MAN:  _ Who says he needs you alive?

_ Ezmerelda:  _ i guess youll have to find out via the 3am text

_ Ezmerelda:  _ night, old man

_ OLD MAN:  _ Don’t let the cultists bite.

Ezmerelda tossed her phone to the side and rolled onto her back, stretching out on the bed. She wasn’t tired, but she closed her eyes in an effort to better sift through her thoughts. To come away from this day empty handed was disappointing -- she’d done most everything she could without snooping, and usually that led to some conclusion or confirmed at least one suspicion. Everyone was so damn  _ normal _ , and it was pissing her off. 

Not that she and van Richten hadn’t encountered people who appeared normal at first glance, but it was odd when both of their gut reactions were off. She resolved to at least attempt to break into Malcolm’s office tomorrow if the reverend hadn’t given her anything concrete by the afternoon. 

“You know you’re supposed to get under the covers to fall asleep, right?” A familiar voice asked her from the corner of the room.

“I’m not sleeping. Just thinking.” She cracked her eyes open, and the blurry form of her brother’s ghost danced in her vision. “You bored?”

It didn’t surprise her that he’d decided to stop in -- she  _ had _ been spending the day surrounded by happy families, after all, and without van Richten to distract her, she was feeling a sort of lonely that she hadn’t in months. 

“You brought me to a  _ church,  _ of all places. What do you think?” Radovan asked, raising a single eyebrow into his hairline before walking towards her bed. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to even get in here?”

“Ah, right. Hallowed ground and shit.” She squinted at him again, trying to discern how corporeal he was today. “How did you get in here anyway?”

“It’s a long story, I’ll tell you another time,” he brushed off. “How did  _ you _ get in here? I didn’t realize they let second-rate lesbian bar performers join a convent these days.”

“Do second-rate lesbian bar performers get laid almost every time they perform?” She waggled her eyebrows at him and grinned. “And for the record, I just walked in here. I’m on a case.”

“There’s gotta be some reward for singing next to tall, dark, and whiny all the time. What’s the case?”

Ezmerelda reached out and swatted at him. “Don’t be mean,” she said. “But we’re pretty sure something is up with this church. Might be a front for cult stuff.”

“Cult for who?”

“We’re um, not sure. My suspect list is pretty exclusive, at the moment.”

“So, basically just the Good Reverend and the half-elf girl who keeps looking at you like you stepped on her cat?” he asked. “Seems manageable to me.”

“That’s about it,” Ezmerelda said. “Though if they’re really doing something nefarious, I can’t imagine that all of them aren’t somehow involved. Even if they don’t know it.”

“How could you not know?” He sat down on the bed with a surprisingly hefty plop, given his young frame and semi-corporeal stature. “‘Hi, welcome to our church, we need your name, birthday, and any reason you might have a conflict with the demon prince, Grazz’t -- no particular reason, of course.’”

“That’s what I’m saying.” She sat up in exasperation, tucking her knees to her chest to make room for him on the bed. “You’d be surprised what charismatic cult leaders can get away with, but that blind faith only goes so far. These people seem so sure of themselves and what they’re doing, I’d be surprised to find out none of them knew whatever the fuck is happening here.”

“Folks like this always are,” he sighed. “I’m surprised the old man let you take a field trip by yourself.”

Ezmerelda shrugged. “He figured I could handle it on my own. It’s just recon.”

“That seems … responsible.”

“I’m not a kid, Radovan,” she huffed. “Plus it’s not like this is my first hunt. I know what I’m doing.”

“That’s what you said the night you tried to follow me and Eli to the airfield. A night that, if I recall correctly, ended with me taking forty five minutes to walk you home after you got hopelessly lost in a soybean patch.”

“I was  _ ten _ ,” she argued. “And those soybean plants all looked the same in the dark. But I’m a monster hunter’s apprentice now, and I spent almost a year on my own. You know I’m capable.”

“I do, I do, I do,” he rambled, bumping his shoulder ever-so-slightly into hers. “I know things are … different, now, than they were back then, but, it’s still my job to look out for you, alright?”

“Yeah, I know.” She returned the shoulder bump and smirked. “Old habits die hard, eh?”

“Oh, come on, that’s just mean. If you’re gonna make fun of me, at least have the decency to leave the low-hanging fruit alone,” He chastised, all the while a smirk splitting his face.

She stuck her tongue out at him. “You’re just mad that I thought of that joke first.”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

Ezmerelda laughed quietly. “Keep telling yourself that, Radovan.” She reached behind him and tugged her bag across the bed, reaching inside to grab her deck of cards. “You wanna play a hand, or am I on my own for solitaire?” 

“What, I haven’t heckled you enough for one day?” He laughed. “Deal me in.”

Kings in the Corner had been their go-to game when they were kids -- other than rousing games of “Go Fish” that quickly turned into “Go Fuck Yourself” -- so Ezmerelda dealt the cards and they were off. 

Four games and four wins later, Ezmerelda finally started to yawn. “I think I’m gonna head to bed,” she said, gathering up the cards from the comforter. “The old man’s going to wake me up at three to make sure I’m not dead.”

“Yikes,” he reacted. “And here I was, thinking he couldn’t possibly be any more annoying from a distance.”

“At least he’s checking in,” she countered. “He could be leaving me here all alone to get murdered. Is that what you want?” 

“Fine, fine, you’re right, you’re right,” He offered, getting up and off of the bed. “I guess I’ll let you try to get  _ some _ sleep in before then.”

“How generous of you,” she drawled. “You gonna pop back around tomorrow?”

“Eh, maybe. You know me -- people to go, places to see, and all that jazz.”

“So I should be honored that Mr. Popular spent the night playing cards with his little sister instead of spending it with his adoring fans?” 

“You definitely should,” he said with a wink, his visage becoming more transparent by the moment. “Night, Ezmerelda.”

“Night, Radovan.” Once again, she was alone. 

The room was suddenly too quiet, too empty now that Radovan was gone.  Van Richten’s absence sat heavier with her than she expected -- there was a part of her that wished she’d fought harder for him to come with her, if only for the company. 

Frustrated, she snatched her bag from where it sat on the bed, upending some of its contents.  _ You’re spending one night alone. Get a grip. You’ll be fine.  _

She let out a huff and stuffed the deck of cards, her tarokka deck, a Taco Bell wrapper, and her spellbook back into her bag. Her hand hesitated on the small dagger that rested on the bed. Just its weight in her hand reminded her of the first time her father had placed it in her hand, as a gift for her fifteenth birthday. She remembered the expectation that had come with it, that she would follow orders, fall in line, become the ever obedient child. 

The hilt bit into her palm, startling her from her thoughts. She let it fall to the bed and stood, shedding her clothes before falling back into the bed. She cocooned herself in the nest of sheets and scooped up the dagger from where it lay. No matter the painful memories that came with it, she had never been able to get rid of it. She wondered what her father would think of what she used it for now -- killing monsters instead of becoming them. 

She tucked the knife under her pillow and set her alarms on her phone. 

Sleep continuously slipped from her. Only when she began to hum the lullaby Radanavich had taught her as a child did she nod off. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezmerelda takes a chance to learn more about Malcolm's intentions and gets a hell of a lot more than she bargained for.

The hall was silent as Ezmerelda snuck to Malcolm's office. She chased the lengthening shadows from the afternoon sun down the hallways, listening as the sounds of the congregation grew quieter the further she got from the chapel. When she reached his office unaccosted, she slipped her lock-picking tools out of her pocket and knelt down in front of the door. 

As she worked, some of her focus slipped to earlier this morning, after she’d woken up to van Richten’s  _ Are you dead? _ text. Upon assuring him she wasn’t, she’d headed to the kitchen, where Malcolm was making breakfast. 

The omelette was -- she would admit begrudgingly -- excellent, and not poisoned. As far as she could tell. Their conversation mostly stayed within the realms of small talk, and while Ezmerelda did manage to learn more about Helena, nothing stood out to her until she casually mentioned that she and her “uncle” would be heading out of town later tonight. 

Malcolm’s smile only wavered for a moment. “That’s too bad,” he said. “Has something come up in another town?”

“Yeah,” Ezmerelda lied. “Somewhere a couple hours away, so we need to leave tonight to make it in by the morning.”

“Hmm. Well, if you have enough time and are interested, we had a prospective client mention they would be in the area today, and we are planning to begin a part of their journey tonight. We don’t usually let the uninitiated into these ceremonies, but I’m willing to make an exception.”

_ How suspiciously convenient. _ Ezmerelda worked hard to keep the smile of triumph off of her face and force it into a look of surprise. “That is an extremely kind offer. I’ll admit -- I’m definitely interested, but I don’t want to impose. Or make anyone uncomfortable. I know how important this is to all of you.”

“Nonsense.” Malcolm waved away her concern. “You seem far more interested in all this than most people I’ve spoken with, and if you find you’re intrigued, you are welcome to stop back whenever. You know where we are.” He winked. 

“Alright. Then I’m in.”

“Wonderful! Then I may request your help this morning to get some things ready before everyone else arrives later. Would you mind?”

Ezmerelda shook her head. “Not at all. Just let me know what you need.”

The click of one of the pins nearly slipping down past her tools startled her out of her thoughts. She knew she’d felt the second-to-last pin shift about thirty seconds ago, so she pushed away all other distractions but the task in front of her. She had to hand it to Malcolm -- the man had good taste in locks. But it was still no match for her. 

After a few tense moments in which she thought she heard a noise from down the hall, the lock gave way. 

“Finally,” she breathed, slipping inside and shutting the door behind her. 

Unlike the minimalist aesthetic that was prevalent in the parts of the church she’d seen, Malcolm’s office was quite full. Two ornately carved wooden bookshelves flanked a dark brown, wooden desk toward the back of the room, and a large painting of the church dominated much of the back wall above the desk. 

She supposed she shouldn’t have been all that surprised, given the way Malcolm had asked her to help decorate the chapel earlier. There had been a truly astounding number of candles, drapes, and what had to have been at least ten separate fire code violations before he’d been satisfied with their work. He’d claimed it would help with the ambiance. Ezmerelda thought he’d been full of shit, and in her mind, this proved it. 

Ezmerelda immediately moved to the desk. In skimming the bookshelf on her way by, she noted that there were holy texts from a variety of faiths, but there were quite a few in languages she didn’t recognize. She paused to pull one of these at random and flipped through it, unsurprised to almost immediately find a series of summoning circles and what van Richten had taught her to recognize as Infernal script. 

She could almost hear the hunter sigh in exasperation as a grin stretched its way across her face. “I  _ told _ him. Not a death cult.” She took a few pictures of the circles and the cover on her phone, resolving to rub it in van Richten's face later. 

She replaced the book and continued to the desk. She shoved Malcolm’s chair to the side and began rifling through the papers scattered across the wood, quickly shuffling past the ones about financials and taxes. 

“Boring, boring, boring” she muttered, scattering the pages with a huff. Squatting down, she opened the top left desk drawer to find an ungodly number of red-ink pens. She pocketed one and opened the next drawer, revealing a set of labeled file folders. Her fingers danced over the labels, searching for something interesting, when a folder towards the back caught her eye. The label was a series of runes written in red ink. 

She pulled the folder from the bunch and a black, leather-bound notebook nearly fell into her lap. Disappointingly, the notebook was also written in some sort of code or shorthand, but it did contain some collections of symbols that she recognized as Infernal and more summoning circles. She took a few more pictures with her phone before deciding that this was enough proof. She started to replace the notebook in the folder when it accidentally slipped from her fingers, falling open to a page in the back. 

The photo of a young man stared back at her, one that had obviously been taken from afar without the young man knowing. While the surrounding text was still in shorthand, Ezmerelda gathered that someone had been gathering intel on this young man, but for what purpose was unclear. The only other clue was the dark, red X that was drawn over the man’s photo in pen. 

The next page was nearly identical to the previous one, only this image was of a young woman not much older than Ezmerelda. The shorthand was no more revealing on this page, and her photo also had the red X drawn through it. 

Ezmerelda turned another page and felt her blood run cold. This page was nearly identical to the others, though the shorthand was more scrawling, more hurried than the others had been. Glaringly, instead of an X drawn through the photo, there was a series of circles drawn around it, some so deep that red ink had bled into the shorthand surrounding the circles. It was at this moment that she finally admitted that perhaps she was in deeper shit than she originally anticipated. 

The photo was of her. 

She recognized the diner she and van Richten had stopped at two days ago when they first got into town. She’d been leaning on the car, waiting for van Richten to get back from the bathroom. She’d never seen the photographer. 

Shaking off the creeping dread, she took a picture on her phone and returned the notebook to the drawer. Her thoughts were racing; not only had van Richten been correct in his assumption that this was a trap, but this had been a trap specifically designed for her. To what end? Had the other two befallen the same fate? Maybe they’d been approached and persuaded in the same way she was. She didn’t recognize them, which meant they either declined and moved on or were used for some nefarious purpose and discarded. Given their proximity to the summoning circles in the notebook, she was inclined to believe the latter. 

If they had continued with the pattern through her, presumably these two had also been travelers passing through, or newly settled members of town that wouldn’t be missed. Perhaps these two were even the “clients” Malcolm kept referring to -- people tricked into believing the church was a safe haven on their journey to the afterlife. And while this  _ technically  _ was still a journey to the afterlife, it sure as hell wasn’t safe. Or voluntary. 

Either way, the photos left a bad taste in Ezmerelda’s mouth, and as soon as she returned to her room she was sending these to van Richten and paging him for a ride. There was still about an hour and a half until his next check-in, but she wasn’t waiting any longer. The more time she spent in this horror church, the greater possibility she had of getting caught and sharing the same fate of the previous, presumably deceased applicants. 

Her plans were about five steps ahead as she got to her feet and moved the papers on top of the desk in an approximation of how they’d been before. She’d probably been gone long enough on her supposed bathroom trip to garner some worry or suspicion, but she hoped it hadn’t translated into someone coming to find her. If she moved fast enough, she figured she could run back to her room, grab her stuff, and run out the back door before anyone was the wiser. Van Richten could pick her up on the road.

Crossing the room, she listened at the door for a moment. When she was satisfied no one was around, she slipped outside and closed the door softly behind her. 

“Find anything interesting?”

_ Fuck me.  _ Ezmerelda’s heart climbed into her throat, her hand still resting on the doorknob. She muttered another curse and said, louder, “That depends on your definition of interesting.”

Malcolm gave a low chuckle as she turned to face him. He stood at the edge of the hallway, opposite from the way to her room and -- if she remembered correctly -- the back door. She wasn’t sure how fast the forty-something was, but if she managed to catch him off-guard, she might have a chance. 

He must have noticed her eyeing her escape route, as he clicked his tongue and said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Ezmerelda glanced over her shoulder to find two more bodies blocking her exit. These were two of the bigger human men she’d noticed in the congregation over the past few days, both in height and stature. If she had to guess what these two did in their spare time when they weren’t in church, she’d say the gym. Neither of them seemed to be carrying weapons, but she would have been surprised to find if either of them needed one. 

She returned her gaze to Malcolm. “So I take it the books on summoning shit weren’t just for show?” 

He smiled thinly. “I knew you were going to be trouble. Luckily, I had the foresight to educate myself about your … exploits, so your containment shouldn’t take long.”

“What do you want with me?”

Malcolm smiled. “Ah, ah. If I tell you now, that ruins the fun. Besides, you’ll find out soon enough.” He gestured to the men behind her. “Take her.”

Ezmerelda spun on her heel and took off in the direction opposite from Malcolm. The two men didn’t seem surprised by her move, not did they slow their steady, assured march toward her. However, the wolfish grins they’d been wearing were quickly wiped from their faces when Ezmerelda muttered something and twisted her hands, the magic leaving her hands with a  _ whoosh _ . One went down clutching his gut. The other jerked backwards from the force of the transparent missile that struck his shoulder, but he managed to remain standing and continued his path towards her. 

She was too close to fire off another missile, so when the man reached for her, she swung under and around his incredibly beefy arm, kicking at the side of his knee. He barely moved, but her momentum still carried her forward and out of his grip even as he swung around and reached for her. She felt his fingertips brush the collar of her coat. 

Legs pumping, she kept running, hoping she’d slowed the men down enough and could at least make it outside to the main road before they caught up with her. She was rounding the corner, a triumphant thrill in her chest, when she felt a pinch in her shoulder. 

She slowed only to reach back and tug a cylindrical tube from her shoulder. Her mind barely had time to register the tranquilizer dart before she stumbled, her vision swimming. A few steps later and her knees buckled, her elbows sinking into the carpet as she caught herself. She dragged her sluggish body along the floor until Malcolm’s polished shoes appeared in front of her, and she craned her neck upwards to meet his sneer. The tranquilizer gun hung loosely from his fingers. 

His lips moved blurrily. He said something to her, but the room was spinning and her ears were ringing. She opted to ignore him and bury her face in the carpet, letting the darkness take her. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezmerelda gets a chance to look at a summoning circle up close. Malcolm works on his victory speech. Van Richten shoots his shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this chapter done for a while, so I'm posting earlier than normal. Hope this is as fun to read as it was to write!! xx

This wasn’t the first time Ezmerelda had woken up with the inability to move, but it certainly was the strangest. 

She came to with the sounds of shuffling around her. The hard floor was cold beneath her back, and the ceiling came into focus as her vision did -- she was lying on the floor of the chapel, directly where the altar should have been. 

Groggily, she shifted her head to the side, following the line of her arm to her wrist. A thick leather strap encircled it, pinning her wrist to the floor. She gave an experimental tug, but the strap held fast, as did the identical leather strap around her other wrist. A quick glance down informed her that her ankles were restrained in the same fashion, and that she was -- alarmingly -- in just her underwear and sports bra. 

She groaned and let her head hit the floor. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance this is some elaborate sex dream I’m having?” she asked the ceiling. 

“Afraid not,” came a familiar drawl. Seconds later Malcolm appeared above her, reverently holding a bowl in both hands. He knelt down beside her and balanced the bowl carefully in one hand, dipping a manicured finger into the bowl and stirring slowly. “Sleep well?” he asked, keeping his gaze upon his task. 

“Best I’ve gotten in months,” Ezmerelda said. “Fucking tranquilizers will do that to you.” 

“Mmhmm.” Apparently satisfied with the consistency, Malcolm pulled his finger from the bowl and it came away covered in crimson. “My apologies if this is too warm,” he said. “I’ve heard it tends to make people squeamish.”

“Please tell me that’s not human blood,” Ezmerelda said, only half joking.

“Alright. I won’t tell you.” Keeping the bowl balanced in one hand, he leaned over her chest and began to drag his bloodied finger across her skin. 

“Who’s the poor son of a bitch you killed to get this blood fresh?” Ezmerelda growled. The blood  _ was _ still warm -- much to her disgust -- and she shuddered when she realized Malcolm was tracing distinct patterns onto her skin. “And what the fuck are you doing to me?”

Malcolm pulled away, inspecting his work and approving it with a curt nod. He dipped his finger in the bowl again and shifted his position so he could start on her left arm. 

“Oh, don’t you fret -- this was a willing participant,” he said. “This is a worthy cause, and he was honored for his sacrifice.” 

She jerked her arm as much as she could in the bonds, trying to disrupt the reverend’s work. But Malcolm was quicker than she’d given him credit for, and he jerked his hand back to avoid spoiling whatever he’d been drawing. 

To Ezmerelda’s dismay, he barely seemed put out as his sharp gaze finally turned to meet hers. “As to what I’m doing,” he said, “don’t they teach Infernal in school these days?”

“It’s a little hard for me to see at the moment,” she said pointedly, craning her neck down towards her chest. The blood was still wet and left streaks that trailed down to her collarbone and her shoulders. What parts of the symbols she could see weren’t familiar to her, and she felt her heart skip a beat in her chest. 

“Both the restraints and your cooperation are necessary, I’m afraid,” Malcolm said. “And if you’d prefer to keep even a shred of your mind intact during this ritual, you will stop squirming and allow me to work.” 

“You’re trying to bring her back, aren’t you?” 

Malcolm cocked an eyebrow. “So you  _ are _ smarter than you look. And act, for that matter.”

She chose to ignore the dig and continued. “You’ve been searching for vessels for Helena’s soul, yes? The other two in your notebook didn’t work. Were they travelers too? Or more unlucky members of your  _ flock _ ?”

“All of our test subjects have been carefully selected and vetted through a thorough process my wife left before she died,” Malcolm said. “Now, I would love to continue our little conversation, but I really must continue my work. Should you continue to be difficult, I’ll tell my boys to go ahead and break down the door to that hotel room. 201, I believe it was? You both tend to prefer the corner rooms.” 

Ezmerelda’s heart climbed its way up her throat, and she fought to keep the fear off of her face. In answer, she returned her gaze firmly to the ceiling and stilled her body as much as she was able. “So your wife had quite the contingency plan for her death. Was she expecting to die?”

Malcolm swirled his finger in the blood again and returned to the half-finished symbol on her left arm. “Of course she was, my dear,” he said. “You should always expect to die when you worship devils.”

“I fucking told him,” Ezmerelda muttered under her breath. “Not a death cult.” 

“It was a monster hunter who did it,” he said thoughtfully, ignoring her. “Ran her over with his car. Rather inelegant if you ask me, but we all can’t be Dr. Rudolph van Richten, can we, Ms. d’Avenir?”

Ezmerelda only hesitated for a second. “You’ve got the wrong girl, Reverend.” 

“Oh, there’s no need to pretend,” Malcolm said, moving on to her stomach. “After my wife was murdered, I read up on every monster hunter that dared to show their faces in public. He does well to hide it, but being the best gets you famous, whether you want it or not.” Blood dripped down her sides and Ezmerelda suppressed a shudder. “And then you appeared in the narrative: a monster hunter’s apprentice. An odd occupation to say the least, but even more uncommon that you’ve survived for so long. Most of the others I’ve researched died within a few months. I have to say, I was impressed by your tenacity and flair for the dramatic. It made it much easier to track your progress.” 

At this point Malcolm shifted to the edges of her periphery to start on her left leg, and Ezmerelda was suddenly thankful that she had opted to wear boy shorts today instead of a thong. 

“You got close to us a few times, and I hoped you might stop by. I was sure the two of you had moved on by this time, but  _ divine  _ intervention brought you to us.” Ezmerelda rolled her eyes at the joke and the barely contained excitement leaking into his voice. “Helena will be thrilled to hear that she destroyed not one, but two monster hunters with her return to this plane.”

“The only reason I’m going along with this is because you said you wouldn’t hurt him,” Ezmerelda warned. 

“And I intend to keep that promise, Ms. d’Avenir. Physically, anyway. I cannot account for what this will do to his psyche.” 

“Eh, he’ll be fine.”  _ Probably _ . “Let me see if I have this straight --” Malcolm picked up the bowl and moved around to her right leg “-- this is not only a plot to bring back your wife from the dead, but also a somewhat half-hearted attempt at revenge against every monster hunter ever? Not that I’d wish this on anyone else, but why didn’t you go after the guy who literally murdered your wife? I’m feeling attacked by proxy here.”

“As I said, Helena had this plan in place long before she died. Using monster hunters was an added flair of my own.” He paused for a moment. “You snooped through my notebook, did you not?” 

“Of course I did. It was some Blair Witch kind of shit--” She stopped herself, remembering the picture of the young man, and the reasoning for his comment suddenly dawned on her. “Oh gods. You  _ did _ find him, and you used him for the ritual.” 

Malcolm gave a belabored sigh. “I did. The ritual did not take to him, unfortunately, but he did die a horribly painful death, so that experiment wasn’t all bad.”

“Why do you even want to bring her back?” she asked as Malcolm moved to her right arm. “Seems like you have a pretty sweet gig. Head of a church...cult? Church, whatever, a town wrapped around your finger, wealth, notoriety, presumably a pretty good connection in the Nine Hells -- some people would quite literally kill for what you have. Pun intended.” 

Instead of a quick, assured answer, this time Ezmerelda was greeted by the silence and the ambient noise of other preparations being made around the church. But whatever triumph she felt for making the reverend doubt his motives was quickly shattered when he set the bowl down beside her head and watched her, not speaking until she’d moved her gaze to meet his. 

“Quite a lot of what I told you on the street the other night was -- if not an outright lie -- certainly a half truth. But I can tell you with certainty that Helena is and always will be the love of my life. I miss her terribly, and I have been fighting for two years to get her back. I find it insulting that you think appealing to something as trivial as earthly possessions or status would tempt me to turn my back on her. Do not mistake me for one of the common beasts you and the doctor so easily fell. I hunt hunters, and when my wife returns she and I will hunt you all together, and you will die knowing you spelled doom for all others like you.” 

Ezmerelda let Malcolm’s last sentence hang in the air for a beat. She really wanted to let him think he’d scared her until she broke the silence. “Did you practice that beforehand or was it improv? It wasn’t bad, but it could use some work. I have some suggestions for you as far as monologuing goes -- trust me, I’ve heard a lot of these things.”

Malcolm’s carefully composed exterior cracked ever so slightly, a telling twitch pulling his lip up into a snarl. But the rage was gone as quickly as it came, replaced with a thin smile as the reverend dipped his thumb into the bowl. 

“It is unfortunate that Helena will require use of your tongue.” He leaned over and gripped the top of her head with his non-bloodied hand, holding it tightly in place. “I would very much enjoy cutting it out.” He placed his thumb at the top of her forehead, dragging it downward over her nose and lips, stopping when he was halfway down her neck. Despite how hard she tried to keep them closed, some of the blood leaked between her lips, and she tried not to gag as the coppery liquid touched her tongue. 

Keeping his hand on her head, he drew a horizontal line across her bottom lip that extended to the edges of her jaw on either side. His thumb quickly danced across her right cheek, and then around her left eye. His gaze lingered on his work for another moment before giving a self-satisfied hum and standing, taking the bowl with him.

“You should take a look at yourself,” Malcolm said proudly. “I do believe this is my best work.”

Ezmerelda obliged not out of obedience but of morbid curiosity, craning her neck forward to see that most of her skin that wasn’t touching the floor or covered in clothing was painted with blood. Her eyes flickered over the symbols, desperately trying to find one she recognized, but none of them seemed familiar. 

“What did you say this was again?” Ezmerelda asked. “Infernal?”

Malcolm laughed. “Oh, Ms. d’Avenir. You’re really in over your head, aren’t you?” He gestured to someone beside him, and Bella appeared out of the corner of Ezmerelda’s eye. “Begin the final preparations on the circle, and call the boys. Tell them it’s time. And please remind them to take the good doctor alive -- we have use for him.” 

Bella nodded and shot Ezmerelda a sneer before moving away to accomplish her tasks. Malcolm remained in his place above her but had turned his attention to the church around him, activities Ezmerelda was only catching about half of due to her unfortunate position on the ground. 

She craned her neck up to get a glimpse of precisely how much shit she was in, and immediately noted it was quite a lot. She wasn’t exactly sure what everyone was doing, but to her quick count, nearly all of the members of the “congregation” she’d met over the past two days was here and actively participating. That meant, at current standing, it was twenty-some people against her, and she was already weaponless, incapacitated, nearly naked, and without van Richten. A part of her stubbornly clung to the fact that it could be worse, and the other part agreed that yes, it could be worse -- she could be naked. 

During her second sweep of the church, a thought occurred to her. She glanced around a third time, going so far as to lift her chest and tilt her head backwards to make sure they weren’t behind her. 

Malcolm noted her acrobatics and asked wryly, “Looking for something? I don’t believe your ‘uncle’ has deigned to grace us with his presence yet.”

“Did Bobbi and her kids not go in for this part of the recruitment process?” she asked him. “I’m sure asking five-year-olds to be a part of a cult isn’t hard, but I’d imagine a grown-ass adult and a teenager probably need more convincing.”

“Bobbi prefers more of a... _ passive _ participation in all this,” Malcolm responded. “Doesn’t have the stomach for this part of the ritual. I can sympathize, so I allow her to sit it out.” He glanced down at her, a sharp look in his eye. “Were you hoping for her innocence in this, Ms. d’Avenir? I can’t imagine what for. You barely know her.”

Ezmerelda shrugged, doing her best to hide her disappointment. There was some solace in knowing Bobbi wouldn’t participate in all this, but to know she’d been in on it from the beginning made Ezmerelda feel foolish. She’d really been taken by the woman’s story, and her honesty in telling it. She must be a better liar than Ezmerelda gave her credit for. 

“I try to give people the benefit of the doubt, Malcolm,” she replied. “Plus, I’m mentally making my shitlist for after I get out of here, and I wanted to know if she needed to be on it.” 

“You hunters are all the same.” Disdain dripped from his tongue and curled his lips upward. “Infuriatingly and stupidly convinced of your invincibility. Gets the lot of you killed, in my experience.”

“And whose fault is that?” she muttered. Louder, she asked, “So why’d you choose me over van Richten?” If her escape routes were barred for the time being, she could at least pump the reverend for information. “Why not take out the--” she paused to push the remainder of her sentence through gritted teeth, “--more experienced hunter?”

“You’re younger,” Malcolm said, his gaze still roving about the chapel. “Your body will last longer, which will decrease the frequency with which we must move her soul to a different vessel.”

“It’s because I’m hotter, isn’t it?”

Malcolm sighed. “As I said, it has to do with the longevity of your physical form. And while attractiveness was a factor in determining a vessel, you  _ both _ fit the bill.”

The reverend winked at her, and while Ezmerelda was doing her damndest to wrap her mind around the fact that Malcolm had just called van Richten  _ hot _ and trying to determine which bloody symbol would erase that tidbit from her memory forever, hurried footsteps echoed through the chapel and stopped in front of Malcolm. 

“He’s not there,” came Bella’s frantic voice.

“Who’s not there?”

“The hunter,” Bella hissed. “The boys knocked the door in, but he wasn’t fucking in there! He’s gone!”

Ezmerelda let out a snort of laughter and Bella lunged at her, a sudden rage burning in her eyes. Malcolm caught her by the arms and wrenched her away, hissing something to her in a stern whisper. The half-elf ignored him, staring daggers at Ezmerelda and nearly yelling, “She  _ knows _ something, Reverend. The bitch knows something!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ezmerelda said. “I just find it amusing that apparently you all forgot you were dealing with the best monster hunter this world has ever seen. Did you think it was going to be easy to catch him?”

“We caught you,” Bella snarled. 

“I  _ let  _ you catch me,” Ezmerelda corrected. “There’s a difference.”

The half-elf started to say something, but Malcolm shook her and barked, “Bella. Calm yourself. We’ll find him -- he won’t leave without his apprentice. Continue with the preparations and keep a level head. Have faith.” 

Growling, Bella relaxed in Malcolm’s grip and he released her. Ezmerelda got a small thrill of satisfaction when she flipped Bella the bird as the half-elf walked away. She didn’t think it was possible for Bella to get redder with anger, but she managed. 

“So, Ms. d’Avenir.” Malcolm’s polished shoes appeared in her vision, and he paused in front of her hand. One of his shoes raised up, and he slowly lowered it onto her palm until she hissed in pain. “Where is he?”

“How should I know?” she grunted. “”I’ve been locked up here with you lot for the past two days.”

The pressure intensified. A squeak of pain slipped out from between her teeth. 

“Surely his whereabouts are a part of this elaborate plan you two had so carefully cooked up,” he said. “Or does one become the best monster hunter in the world through sheer, dumb luck?”

_ That’s about the half of it, Reverend _ . Out loud, she said, “The old man never tells me anything for this reason exactly. I’ve never been a particularly helpful captive.” 

“There’s a first time for everything,” Malcolm said pointedly. He shifted his weight forward. “You really don’t know anything, do you?”

“No, I really don’t,” Ezmerelda said through gritted teeth. “Would you get the fuck off of my hand? I’m sure your wife will appreciate it.”

Reluctantly Malcolm removed his boot just as someone called out, “Reverend Malcolm, everything’s ready and waiting for your go ahead.”

“Perfect,” the reverend muttered. “We just need that bastard doctor and everything will be--”

It was at that moment that Ezmerelda heard the tell-tale noise of a door being kicked in, and the familiar click of a readied gun. Her head snapped to the right to see the doctor himself standing in the doorway, full of western bravado as the dying light from the sun streamed in behind him. Before he’d even laid eyes on her, he brandished the gun -- the one she’d only ever seen him pick up a handful of times, let alone use -- firmly in Malcolm’s direction with a self-assuredness neither of them felt, but when he spoke his face and voice were steady as stone. “I know that they say the devil’s in the details, Reverend, but this frankly feels a bit excessive,” he announced. “Why don’t you stand down, take a few steps back from the girl, and nobody’s gotta die tonight.”

“Ah, there you are, Doctor,” Malcolm said, adjusting his collar. “Impeccable timing. Take him.” 

In the split seconds it took for two of the members of the congregation to reach van Richten, he managed to fire off two shots. The first went wide, clipping one of the cultists in the calf and sending him into a bit of a fit, but the second whizzed past her and she briefly hoped it might’ve found purchase in Malcolm’s chest. The crack and subsequent smash of shattering glass cried out instead, and she had to admit -- this was a fairly satisfying alternative. By the time she reoriented herself to assess the damage, the two men who had leapt forward before had van Richten disarmed and thoroughly restrained. 

They hauled him down the aisle as he struggled against their grips. Ezmerelda quickly realized that these two were the same goons who had come after her earlier, and while van Richten was strong, he wasn’t  _ that  _ strong, and they easily pulled him along until they stopped before the stairs to the altar. Malcolm turned to face the hunter, a triumphant grin splitting his face as he opened his mouth to say something. 

“That was your plan?” Ezmerelda cut in. 

“You’re one to talk,” van Richten hissed under his breath.

“My plan was perfectly sound,  _ and _ I accomplished my goal. Not a death cult, just like I said.” She briefly looked down at herself, then back sideways at van Richten. “This is a mild hitch. Nothing to worry about.” 

“Being covered in pig’s blood is nothing to worry about? I don't even recognize all of these symbols.”

“Damn,” she said. “I was hoping you would. And this isn’t pig’s blood.”

“Ezmerelda--”

Malcolm cleared his throat loudly. “Am I interrupting something here?”

Van Richten fixed Malcolm with a level stare. “Actually, yes,” Ezmerelda said. “Why don’t you give us a moment so I can get him up to speed?”

“Christ,” the doctor muttered. 

“There’s no need for you to do so, Ms. d’Avenir,” Malcolm said. “I am perfectly capable of describing the situation and -- as you so kindly suggested -- work on my monologuing.” He sneered at her before returning his gaze to the hunter. “Your apprentice is my current candidate for my wife’s vessel, as I intend to bring her back from the dead. Thankfully, Doctor, your role in all this is rather simple: you get to sit back, relax, and enjoy the show. You may be required to participate if Ms. d’Avenir doesn’t do exactly as I tell her, but I have a feeling she will follow my instructions to the letter. I believe those parameters are fairly easy to follow, but if you have any questions I’d be happy to answer them.”

“Just one,” van Richten started. “I may not be able to decipher all of these runes, but I can make out the broad strokes. This kind of ritual requires a willing participant -- without magic or coercion. I hate to break it to you, Reverend, but I wouldn’t exactly consider you Ms. d’Avenir’s type.”

“Why, that’s where you come in.” Malcolm gestured to one of the men holding van Ritchen. “Why don’t we show Ms. d’Avenir exactly what happens if she doesn’t follow my every order?”

The man to van Richten’s left pivoted and drove his fist into the hunter’s gut. Van Richten bent double, gasping in pain, and Ezmerelda pulled at her bonds in anger. 

“You son of a bitch,” she growled. “You said--”

“ _ If _ you cooperate,” Malcolm reminded her. “I said, if you cooperate, no harm will come to him.”

Ezmerelda looked to van Richten and met his gaze, his eyes still glazed over with pain as he wheezed. He held her gaze intently, silently begging her not to listen.

But when did she ever listen to the old man? She sure wasn’t going to start now -- after all, she had a reputation to uphold. 

Reluctantly, she pulled her gaze from the hunter’s and found Malcolm’s. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll do your fucking ritual.”

Ezmerelda only caught van Richten’s gaze for half a second before he turned away, but it was enough. She could read him like a book, and in this state, he wasn’t doing a particularly good job of hiding. His face was full of uncertainty and pain, running lightning fast through every possible contingency plan-- and, if his expression was any indication, not finding any that he found suitable. He was well-and-truly worried, on a level she’d rarely seen from him. She tried desperately for that moment to offer some sil ent apology big enough to cover this, but he turned away before she had the chance. 

“You’ll burn for this, Walker. Mark my words.”

Malcolm chuckled. “And who shall strike the match, Doctor? You? You’re doing a wonderful job of thwarting my plans thus far.”

“With all due respect,  _ Reverend,”  _ he spat, “go fuck yourself.”

One edge of Malcolm’s thin-lipped smile curled into a sneer. “I must say, I was rather disappointed by how easy this all was. I expected much more of a challenge from the world’s greatest monster hunter and his apprentice, but I suppose I won’t complain. I have such a good feeling about this one. Isn’t that right, Ms. d’Avenir?”

Ezmerelda rolled her eyes. “Sure, Malcolm. Are you ever going to shut up and do this thing or are you going to monologue me to death?”

Malcolm turned away from van Richten and moved until he was fully within her field of vision, staring down at her like some malevolent god watching its charge with disdain. 

“There will be a moment during this ritual where you will see a door,” Malcolm began. “When that happens, I need you to open it.” 

“I’d love to, Reverend, I really would. It’s just that I’m a little tied up at the moment, and doors generally require the use of one’s hands.”

“Oh, your hands won’t be necessary.” Malcolm leaned forward, as if building up to his big reveal. “You will do so by magical means.”

Ezmerelda gave a long-suffering sigh. “Hate to break it to you, but I still need my hands for that. Somatic--”

“Knock only requires a verbal command,” Malcolm interrupted. “Do not play me for a fool. You will open the door when it presents itself, and until then you will behave or the doctor will suffer. I thought I had made myself perfectly clear, and this is the last time I’m willing to repeat myself. Am I understood?”

The anger, simmering until now, threatened to boil over as she glared at Malcolm. Magic buzzed on her tongue, and she almost felt herself mouth the words for lightning bolt, hoping that maybe van Richten’s god was listening and they would give her this one pass for a somatic component and let her strike down the reverend where he stood. But, as van Richten had helpfully reminded her on multiple occasions, gods didn’t work like that, so she swallowed her rage and the magic and the fear, glaring up at Malcolm with all the quiet fury she could muster. 

“Understood,” she said.

“I thought you might,” Malcolm purred. He raised his voice to speak to the whole room. “Places, everyone.”

The reverend disappeared from her immediate view as the sounds of shuffling filled the church. She tried to focus on what the cultists were doing, how seven of them stepped forward around the circle that had been etched into the floor, that each of them was reverently clutching a cup to their chests, that Malcolm stood behind them to her left, bathed in the dying sunlight streaming in from the broken window, his robes billowing as he raised his arms--

She cursed herself for glancing back for van Richten. They’d moved him further back down the aisle, but he was still in full view between two of the cultists in the surrounding circle. A part of her hoped he wasn’t watching her and that she could get one last look of reassurance from him before whatever the fuck was about to happen  _ happened _ , but she met his gaze instead. It was only for a moment, but she knew, without a single doubt, that he was expecting to watch her lose this fight. 

And for all her assuredness and bravado, she knew he was right. 

The chanting had already started by the time Ezmerelda tuned into it. It was low and sonorous, tuneless but not without rhythm. It vibrated through her ribcage, seemingly swelling in time with the thundering beat of her heart.

Seconds ticked by slowly. An odd haze began to appear in the air above her, so subtly she assumed it was a trick of the light, and she blinked to clear it from her vision. The haze remained and she stared at it, desperately trying to decipher its origin when her attention was pulled to the seven cultists circling her. Still chanting, they knelt and tipped the cups into the circle, sending rivulets of crimson streaking towards her. 

Inexplicably, the blood didn’t run as it should have--as soon as it touched the area inside the circle, it swirled, leaving trails in whirling patterns and shapes before making its way to her. 

She jerked in the bonds when the blood finally reached her. It burned fiercely, searing the skin that was touching the ground. Choking back a scream, she looked up again to find that the outline of a door had appeared in the shimmering haze above her. She squinted but it remained, refusing to be a trick of the light or a figment of her imagination. 

The chanting grew louder. The magic in the air around her was so thick she could taste it. Some distant part of her had the audacity to remind her that if -- by some impossible odds -- they were to survive this, van Richten was going to give her an extremely stern talking-to, but then the pain was becoming too much and her head was spinning and the door was beckoning, waiting, wanting to be opened.

Her tongue moved to the roof of her mouth.  _ Here goes nothing _ . She clicked her tongue against it once, then twice. 

_ Knock knock. _

As if she’d flicked a lighter in a room filled with gas, the magic ignited on her tongue with such force that it blasted in the door with a mighty  _ boom _ . All other noises were immediately drowned out by horrible, keening wails and shrieks that threatened to split Ezmerelda’s eardrums and seemed to snatch the air from her lungs. 

She felt something being tugged from her chest into the darkness. Panicked, she fought back with what little breath she had left, but the pull was too strong, and her own scream joined in the chorus as something ripped in her chest and she felt herself flying, hurtling through the open door that slammed shut behind her. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezmerelda makes an unlikely alliance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags have been updated for this chapter. 
> 
> This is a shorter one, but it felt appropriate given the announcement today :) EZMERELDA LOOKS SO GOOD ON THAT VARIANT COVER HELL YEAH also make VR the disaster bi from 2e we all know he is 2k21

The feeling of flying through space stopped abruptly as she blinked and was suddenly standing in an expanse of drab, ashen landscape. Rocks were strewn across the ground as far as she could see, which was all she was able to discern as her world tilted and a wave of nausea brought her to her knees. 

“Fucking hell, another one?” An exasperated voice came from behind her. “I swear, I gotta teach this motherfucker a lesson.” The voice moved a little closer. “Take it easy for a minute. The dizziness will pass.”

Ezmerelda froze. Her heart -- which she was half surprised to find was still beating -- pounded painfully against her ribs. Still, she did as the voice advised and breathed slowly until her stomach had settled and the vertigo mostly stopped. Keeping her eyes screwed shut, she slowly got to her feet and turned to face the voice. 

There was a tiny gasp. “Oh,  _ fuck _ . Are you aware you’re covered in quite a lot of blood?”

Ezmerelda rolled her eyes before remembering they were closed. “Yes, I am aware,” she said dryly. “It happens to be the reason I’m here.”

“The priest, right?” the voice asked. “Malcolm something-or-other?”

Ezmerelda frowned. “How did you know?”

“You’re not the first person he’s sent to me. There was another girl, and a guy, I think. Maybe? Can’t quite remember, honestly.”

“...are you Helena?”

The voice let out a loud, warbling laugh that made Ezmerelda jump. “Yeah, no. About that.” A beat, before a far too cavalier admission: “I ate her.”

Ezmerelda paused. “You  _ what _ ?”

“Ate her. Fully consumed.” She couldn’t see it, but she could feel the voice shaking its head. If it had one. “Or, maybe not quite fully. There must be some part of her still attached to me, if that motherfucker keeps using it as a tether.”

“Malcolm is under the impression that his wife is still … you know. A soul capable of being brought back to the prime material plane.”

“Sorry, no.” The voice considered something. “Though I guess he’d have no way of knowing. The other two died before getting back, so he probably assumed part of the ritual failed.”

Ezmerelda knew she was going to regret asking, but she did anyway. “How did they die, then?”

“They looked at me,” the voice said. “You seem to know what you’re doing, though. I’m impressed.”

“This isn’t my first rodeo.”

The voice paused. “This isn’t your first time in the Nine Hells?”

It was Ezmerelda’s turn to pause. “Ah. That explains the screaming,” she said. “But no, first time here. Not my first time dealing with devils, though.”

“Oh, I’m not a devil. I’m a demon.”

Ezmerelda took a moment to let that sink in. “Then what the fuck are you doing in the Nine Hells?”

“None of your business,” the demon said sullenly. 

“Why? Did you get lost or something?” she joked. 

A long pause. “No.”

“You totally got lost, didn’t you?”

“It’s not like there are doors to the Abyss anywhere!” the demon whined. “I just couldn’t find a way out and started wandering. I found the woman after a while, chatted with her, got a little peckish, ate her, and now I keep getting free meals from some mortal who has the audacity to fuck with me.”

“I’m, uh, really sorry about that,” Ezmerelda said. 

“The free meals aren’t bad, but the persistent bothering is getting on my nerves.” The demon was silent for a moment. “You’re probably wondering if I’m going to eat you.”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” Ezmerelda admitted. “I would request that you not.”

“No, no, I’m good. Not hungry at the moment. Plus, I think you might be able to help me out.”

“With what?”

“Getting out of here.”

“I barely know what got  _ me _ here,” Ezmerelda said. “I hardly think--”

“Oh, I can get us back easy,” the demon said. “Those symbols all over your body make you a door. I can open it. I just have to possess you.”

Ezmerelda’s heart dropped. “You need to do what?”

“Possess you. Like in  _ The Exorcist _ . Is that still a pertinent reference when you’re from? I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve been--”

“No, I know what possession is,” Ezmerelda interrupted. “Enough to know that it’s incredibly stupid of me to give up my body to a demon willingly.”

“You don’t really have much of a choice.”

“You said I’m a door,” Ezmerelda pointed out. “I’ll just open it back up, hop on through, and I’m back. No problem.”

“You’ll still be at the mercy of Malcolm though, yeah? I assume you weren’t thrilled at the prospect of becoming a vessel for his wife. Unless I’ve entirely misread this situation and in which case, you do you, but the other two were definitely coerced into this so I presume you fall into that camp.”

“You presume correctly.”

“Say you do manage to get the door open. You go back, pop back into your body without his wife. He murders you because he assumed the ritual failed. Even if you try to tell him about me, you have no proof, so there’s no guarantee he’ll believe you. Boom. Murdered again.”

“Fine,” Ezmerelda huffed. “What’s your plan, then?”

“Let me possess you,” the demon said in a conspiratorial hush. “I met Helena, so I can impersonate her for long enough to make Malcolm think this whole thing worked. Then, when the time is right, we reach through his stomach and rip his fucking spine out. It’s a win-win. I can get out of here, and you won’t be killed immediately upon reentry.” 

“What about after?” Ezmerelda asked. “Do you plan on continuing to use my body for nefarious purposes?” 

“Of course not.” The demon sounded offended she would even entertain the thought. “You are simply a springboard on my way to the Abyss. As soon as Malcolm is dealt with, I will gladly vacate your person and be on my merry way.”

“Yeah, I don’t believe that for a fucking second.”

There was a moment of weighty silence before she heard a slithering sound, which she belatedly realized was the demon moving towards her. She stood her ground, hoping it appeared to be an act of bravery rather than paralyzing fear, even as her heart threatened to burst from her chest. 

The noise stopped not two feet from her. She heard the stretching of skin and sinew as it bent down to stick what she assumed to be its mouth directly by her ear, its breath tickling the skin of her neck.

“It’s been so long since Malcolm sent me a soul, I haven’t eaten in what feels like -- oh, I don’t know -- maybe months to you humans? All this small talk suddenly has me famished.”

“You need me to escape,” Ezmerelda said tightly. “You aren’t going to squander your one chance. Who knows when the next victim is going to come along? And will they know not to die on the spot?”

The demon hissed. “What do you want?”

“Your word,” Ezmerelda said. “Your word that you get the fuck out when I tell you to.”

“You would trust my word?” the demon chuckled. 

“It’s all I have. Just as I am all you have.”

She heard nothing for a long moment. Worried she’d pushed too far, she had counted ten gallops of her heart before the demon spoke again. “Deal,” it hissed. “Hold out your hand.”

She obliged. There was a pop, and she felt something big and slimy plop into her palm. 

“You can open your eyes now,” the demon said. “I can’t kill you looking like this.”

Ezmerelda opened her eyes, and in her hand sat a large slug. The demon, even in this smaller form, was bigger than any slug she’d set eyes on and ten times as ugly. Instead of eye stalks, there were at least fifteen eyes she could count on the parts of the slug she could see. Razor sharp teeth filled its grinning mouth as she looked at it with what could only be pure disgust and mild horror.

“Um, what now?” she asked hesitantly.

“You need to eat me.”

“Oh, fuck me,” she groaned, bringing her hand and the slug to her mouth before she chickened out. 

The demon slithered onto her tongue, and the taste of sulfur overwhelmed her senses. However, the slime that trailed in the demon’s wake must have contained some of whatever the demon used to take over the host’s senses -- she barely felt the need to gag even as the slug slithered down her throat. 

Her right leg went numb first. Her left followed and she collapsed to the ground, totally and suddenly unable to move. She heard the demon’s voice in her head.

_ You’re gonna need to cast that open door spell for me. I’ll do the rest.  _

_ I’m never opening a door for anyone ever again,  _ Ezmerelda thought as she clicked her tongue.

The demon laughed and a door appeared out of nowhere, throwing itself open and dragging Ezmerelda through once again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shift in perspective and an exploration of the affairs of the heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events of this chapter are from van Richten's perspective. My lovely wife (and DM of our Strahd campaign that inspired this story) wrote much of this one with me for a change in voice -- thanks, babe xo

The slam of Ezmerelda’s limp body echoed from the altar floor to the furthest row of pews. Her eyes were screwed shut now, an anxious tension still thrumming in her midsection, but no matter what responses she was or wasn’t able to give, van Richten knew one thing for sure: his protégé was no longer with them.

Which isn’t to say she couldn’t come back, he thought, his mind quickly outpacing the language it used. Unlikely, certainly, but not impossible -- though the return trip provided its own set of obstacles. But that was only if she survived the encounter with whatever hellish entity was left of the late preacher’s wife. Souls didn’t last long in the Nine Hells. They’re quickly corroded and lost, used as bargaining tokens or conscripted into the devils’ side of the Blood War. He may not have seen this particular ritual before, but the sigils were burned into the back of his mind like a brand: a gateway to Avernus. And down we go.

“Excellent job, everyone,” Malcolm said, shooing the seven members of his congregation still on the altar away. They picked up their cups and retreated, leaving the reverend and Ezmerelda’s limp body on the platform. 

Careful not to step inside the line, Malcolm skirted around the circle to the front, addressing van Richten as he did so. “I’m sure you’ve seen quite a lot of rituals in your time, Doctor, but that one is just magnificent, is it not?”

Van Richten gritted his teeth and barely suppressed an eyeroll. But, no -- doing that would mean taking his eyes off of her, however briefly, and that wasn’t a gamble he was willing to make. 

“She should be alright,” Malcolm continued. “She did well. Much better than my first two experiments. I suppose I should be glad they both perished -- I would have never gotten to your apprentice had they lived.”

“What a shame,” he muttered. 

“Such strength she shows. And what loyalty.” Malcolm shook his head and descended the stairs, heading in van Richten’s direction. “All I had to do was threaten you and--” he snapped his fingers “--instant obedience. That level of devotion is rare nowadays. Where did you find her, anyway?”

A chuckle escaped his lips. No lie could possibly be as ridiculous as the truth, so he didn’t bother mincing his words: “In a dumpster behind my hotel, halfway through her third lukewarm hotdog.”

“Mmm. Fair enough,” Malcolm replied, offering the same reaction van Richten usually received when he told that story: disbelief and mild irritation. “I suppose I can just ask my wife when she returns. There should still be a part of your apprentice in there, and I’m sure she’ll be very forthcoming. My wife is quite persuasive.” 

Van Richten couldn’t help but smirk about that. There was very little Ezmerelda could be convinced of if she’d already stuck her feet in far enough -- it was why the two of them were in this mess to begin with. He just hoped Ezmerelda was as dead set on keeping herself alive as she was at nearly getting killed. 

Malcolm reached where the three of them were standing and leaned back against a pew off to van Richten’s right. “My one regret will be my inability to hear her scream when I slit your throat after you’ve outlasted your usefulness.” He shrugged. “I suppose I’ll have to compensate by watching you lose her now, powerless to do anything to help her.”

Van Richten did his best to bite back the acid burning on his tongue, but he wasn’t certain he’d managed to keep it from reaching his eyes. _Think, Rudolph_ , he chided himself, while doing his best to tune out Malcolm’s victory speech. If she comes back -- _when_ she comes back -- _if_ _she comes back_ \-- it would take strong magic and a hell of a shot to banish Helena from Ezmerelda’s body, a one-in-a-thousand road trip directly back to hell. Those weren’t odds that van Richten was excited to be playing with. If he’d had more time, if he could somehow extend his usefulness, maybe he could’ve snuck Ezmerelda out, exorcised her quietly, and disappeared before the reverend even knew they were gone. But now, it was a matter of precisely placed bolt of dispelling magic, and a hope and a prayer that the devil wouldn’t resist it. 

_ And what then? _ He heard Malcolm’s voice in the back of his head, somehow even more smug.  _ You’re still surrounded, alone, and unarmed. You’re in over your head, Doctor, and we both know it. _

As if the reverend had read his thoughts, Malcolm’s smile sharpened and he said, “Cat got your tongue, Doctor? Or does your apprentice just speak enough for the both of you? I am inclined to believe the latter, but I feel deserved commendations are in order if I’ve managed to outwit  _ the _ Rudolph van Richten.”

“You couldn’t outwit the stones beneath your feet, Malcolm -- no well-rehearsed monologue is going to change that. If you’re interested in playing with your cards on the table, then, by all means, be my guest. I will continue to keep my thoughts as close to my chest as possible, as any smart man would,” van Richten supplied. “I’m not tossing in my hand just so that you have something else to stroke your ego with.”

Malcolm was silent for a moment. “Perhaps I will let my wife kill you,” he said thoughtfully. “Not only will Ms. d’Avenir get the singular experience of watching her body betray her as she murders her teacher, but the last thing you see will be your apprentice’s face as she slits your throat. I think I quite like that, actually.”

“I spent the better part of a year waiting for the moment that Ezmerelda would finally slit my throat,” he replied, tone sharpened to a razor’s edge. “You’ll have to try harder than that to spook me.” 

“She’s obviously changed her tune since then,” Malcolm smirked. “Apparently now she’d do anything to keep you safe. Can you say the same about her, Doctor?”

Van Richten could hardly hear whatever final quip Malcolm had tried to throw at him. The argument had been a somewhat welcome distraction, but the facts remained: he had no plans, no guarantees, and only half an escape route that couldn’t even include Ezmerelda . He could put his lot in with some sort of divine intervention and pray, but he was already pushing his luck in that department. Plan after plan, thought after thought, trial and error in rapid succession -- it all came back to the same panic.  _ She’s been down too long. She’s been down too long. Any longer and she’s not going to have a functional body to come back to. _

But that wasn’t going to save her. If he wanted that, he needed to think -- clearly think -- god, if he could just  _ think  _ \--

Van Richten’s spiral stopped dead in its tracks as a gasp sounded from the altar and Ezmerelda took her first, heaving breath in what had felt like hours. 

For a split second, his mouth hung ajar, an imperceptible gasp passing his lips. She was alive -- in what state, still to be seen -- but she made it back, and that meant there was time. Without hesitation, he tore forward, breaking through the grips of the cult’s clearly dumbfounded security team, and quickly ascended the steps to the dais. He’d nearly reached her when he heard Malcolm’s breath hitch before reciting a rushed incantation. A half-second later he felt the magic run through his veins, catching him by surprise and keeping him planted to the spot. 

The clambering of footsteps behind him meant that the guards had finally broken from their stupor and would attempt to restrain him, unaware that their savior had taken care of it himself. Malcolm waved them off and started towards Ezmerelda. Or whatever was left of her, heaving in the center of a blood-stained circle under the eyes of several dozen cultists, as the man who intended to separate her body from her soul and use the husk as his fiendish plaything drew ever closer. 

And all van Richten could do was watch. 

Malcolm knelt down beside Ezmerelda. Her eyes, eerily wide and unblinking, found the reverend. A slow smile spread across her face as recognition seemed to hit, and a light, feminine voice that was all Southern and all wrong came from Ezmerelda’s mouth. 

“Malcolm. Darling, I seem to be having some difficulty standing up,” she said. “Would you mind…?”

At the sound of what must have been his wife’s voice, Malcolm let out a strangled cry of relief and set upon undoing the restraints. Once he was occupied, the smile dropped and Ezmerelda’s head lolled to the side. She met the hunter’s gaze and smiled at him blankly. Her face was tired, but still remarkably poised as she looked him up and down. Her breath was slowing, and her movements natural -- all perfectly human -- and yet, so distinctly unlike Ezmerelda that he hardly recognized her. The ache and fire of his protégé was, if not gone entirely, certainly overpowered by something else.  _ Waking up was only the first step _ , he reminded himself.  _ We’re not out of the woods yet. _

Ezmerelda -- or, rather, whatever was clearly controlling her -- turned her attention back to Malcolm just as the reverend undid the last restraint. He grasped her hands and pulled her into a sitting position, slinging one of her arms around his shoulders and eventually, with quite a lot of effort, managed to get her to her feet. 

“How are you feeling?” Malcolm asked, excitement and emotion making his voice quiver. 

“A bit unsteady, but I’m sure that will pass with time.” The hand not gripping Malcolm’s shoulder had a fistful of his shirt, and she leaned heavily on the reverend as she surveyed the room. “I see you were all able to follow my instructions, then.”

“To the letter, my love. However,” he winced, “our first two attempts were unsuccessful. I apologize for the length of time it took us to get you back.”

“How much time has passed here?” she asked. “I had trouble keeping track.”

“Two years.”

Ezmerelda’s eyebrows rose. “My, I am glad it did not feel quite so long where I was. But no matter -- I am here, and that’s what’s important.” Her roving gaze found and hovered on van Richten again, sharpening suddenly. “Although two years was apparently long enough for you to gather new recruits while I was gone.”

“We did, of course, but that one is something special,” Malcolm said. “A gift for you, my love. That is one of the world’s most famous monster hunters, totally and completely at our mercy. The body you now inhabit is courtesy of his apprentice, which he so graciously provided us.”

The being that wore Ezmerlda’s skin cocked her head curiously. She took a hesitant step forward, then another, letting go of Malcolm as her gait became steadier with every step. Something about the way her eyes traversed his body sent shivers under his skin. He’d been surveyed by people who meant him ill-will a hundred times -- people who’d discussed their plans to torture him, who’d relished the thought of slow-roasting his organs one-by-one -- without so much as a tremor. 

But this was different. 

The others had treated him like prey or a prize, but this creature looked at him with curiosity, with fascination, as though his existence, his humanness, was an experience so foreign that it struggled to comprehend it. There was a cold calculation behind it’s observation, too -- a delayed understanding and crude mimicry. He was an animal in a cage and a teacher all at once, and it thoroughly unsettled him. 

When she reached him, she tilted her head up to meet his frozen gaze, her lips curling into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. 

“Your friend is a feisty one,” she said. “I shared my plans for you with her, and she became positively ferocious.” A giggle bubbled up from somewhere deep in her chest. “My, that  _ anger _ . It’s delicious. Too bad she’s not strong enough to stop me. It’ll be such fun eviscerating you.” 

“We’ll have plenty of time for that later.” Malcolm came up behind her and placed a hand on Ezmerelda’s back, steering her away from van Richten. “For now, I believe it’s time for you and I to catch up. How I’ve missed you.” 

“I missed you too, darling,” she said, slipping an arm around the reverend’s waist.

Malcolm’s hand found her cheek, and he cupped it reverently as he suddenly pulled her in for a deep kiss. 

Or, what he’d hoped would be a deep kiss. 

Instead of relaxing into him, Ezmerelda’s body stiffened the moment their lips touched. She hadn’t even bothered to close her eyes, and in the milliseconds it took for the reverend to make his move they widened even further, as if in panic. Contact lasted for barely three seconds before Ezmerelda placed both hands on Malcolm’s chest and shoved him away from her. 

_ Oh, _ van Richten remarked to himself.  _ Ezmerelda is  _ certainly _ still in there.  _

There was a brief moment of stunned silence as Malcolm watched her in horrified disbelief. Then, the second odd voice came out of Ezmerelda’s mouth, this one gruffer and far lower and decidedly not Helena’s. 

“Oh, smooth move,” it said. 

There was a pause. “You were  _ supposed _ to follow the plan!” it said. “It’s not my fault he went in for the kiss. You’re the one who freaked out.” Another pause. “I did have full control! You got aggressive. That can have an effect on me.” Pause. “Alright, alright, cool it. We can work with this.”

“Ex-excuse me,” Malcolm interjected, his voice shaking. “What the fuck is going on here?”

The being inhabiting Ezmerelda seemed to remember Malcolm’s presence and turned to him. “Hey. So. Here’s the thing: as I’m sure you figured out, I’m not your wife. Your portal opened up to me instead. However, you’re a lucky son of a bitch; this one was smart enough not to look at me in my true form, so she lived, and I was able to inhabit her body to kick it out here. She gave me the low-down on who you guys are, what you do -- and let me tell you, I’m sold. I realize that I’m not who you wanted, and I am sorry about that, but if you’ll have me, I’d be more than willing to continue inhabiting this body and join the good fight. If you’ll have me.”

Malcolm looked like he’d gotten lost halfway through the speech. Still, he valiantly kept it together and shook himself, asking, “So...who are you exactly?” 

“A denizen of the Nine Hells,” it said, closing the short distance between them. “Who is -- as I mentioned -- totally down to join your ranks. I was just looking for a ride, but now that I’m here,” Ezmerelda shrugged, “why the fuck not?”

“But how?” Malcolm said, clearly still baffled. He moved to face Ezmerelda head on, his back now to van Richten. “How did the portal open to you instead of her? I know everything was perfect. It should’ve --” Malcolm paused. “Wait. What did you mean by ‘this one was smart enough not to look at me?’ Did you see my other experiments?”

“Well yeah. You kept opening portals to me for some fucking reason.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Malcolm muttered. “Her calculations were perfect. Unless--”

The rest of Malcolm’s sentence was lost as a crack echoed through the church. Van Richten wasn’t entirely sure what had happened -- what with the reverend’s back turned to him, blocking the vast majority of the scene -- but he’d been a doctor long enough to recognize the telltale shatter of breaking bone. Combined with the subtle squelch of traumatized viscera and the loosing of the arcane bowstring he’d had wrapped around his heart, he had to guess that things were not working out as planned for Malcolm Walker. 

Magic was no longer holding him to the spot, but that certainly didn’t mean the panic wouldn’t. 

The room was dead silent for a few long moments, save for the pitiful coughs and sputterings from the altar. Ezmerelda’s face remained largely unchanged -- disgruntled, curious, and cruel -- until a moment later, when whatever blunt object had made its way into Malcolm’s chest made its ungraceful exit, tossing a wave of fluid with it. Van Richten barely had time to wonder what she’d managed to scavenge before the reverend collapsed into an inelegant heap on the floor, revealing a bloodstained Ezmerelda, gazing down at her mangled, open palm. Resting inside of it was what van Richten could only assume was Malcolm’s heart, still desperately trying to pump blood to a body beyond the repair of any god. It beat once, twice, three times before finally grinding to a halt. 

She waited until the last spurt of blood had made its ungraceful exit from the stilled heart before letting it roll off her fingers onto the ground. She watched it plop to the floor with mild disgust before turning her attention back to the room, surveying the rest of the congregation with a wolfish smile. 

“That was fun,” she said. “Who’s next?”

And then, as they say, hell broke loose. 


End file.
